


Grumpy Pants

by yaygayhooray



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaygayhooray/pseuds/yaygayhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been one year. One year since Arthur walked out on me and our life together. Since his departure, I have tried valiantly to put the pieces of my life back together and move on, but to no avail. Even now I still love that bloody bastard. However, Arthur is coming home now. I only hope that I can keep myself composed long enough to tell him what a wanker he is. But then, the fates never did like me very much…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

It’s official. It’s the Christmas season… _again_. Heaving a sigh I snap of the tellie, having watched the third Christmas commercial in only twice as many minutes. It’s been only a week since November began and already all the crazy Americans have toted out their Christmas gear. I can’t walk two steps out of my home without seeing the flashing lights and hearing Christmas carols blasting from every speaker. Even from my apartment on the fourth floor I can hear the sounds of bloody Christmas cheer. Aren’t these people supposed to have Thanksgiving this month? Where’s the music and decorations endorsing turkey and celebrating the camaraderie that the holiday is supposed to represent? With a frown, I click on the kettle (one of the few things I’ve managed to keep throughout my many travels), and go sit at the table to wait. I hate Christmas. I hate the whole bloody damn thing.

I could sit here and contemplate all the reasons why I hate the season, but it would be a completely unnecessary waste of time. I know why I hate Christmas; however, facing those issues has never been my strong suit. Oh, I’m good at confronting problematic situations; nevertheless, those circumstances usually involve me putting someone else in line and not the other way around. I like to study people, not myself. A shrill cry from the kettle calls me over. I pour the water into my mug along with a tea bag. Alright, but now, where’s the sugar? Oh sugar, if I were you, where would I hide? I look in every cupboard and come up empty handed. Um, excuse me, Mr. Sugar, but you are causing me a very terrible inconvenience. All hope seems lost, but then I happen to look up. A low growl trickles out of my throat as I spot the sugar bowl. How the hell did the sugar end up on top of the refrigerator? I pull it down and scoop out two tablespoons into my mug. No matter how big or how small the mug is, I must have two tablespoons. No more. No less. Call me neurotic, but that is one of the few things in my life that must be in order.

Then a thought trickles through my brain like syrup. Ariadne had been here just yesterday. I groan. She has an exasperating habit of rearranging my apartment. She always claims that she is looking out for me and helping me arrange my ‘hell hole’ into some semblance of cleanliness. I say that she just likes to fuck with me. I take a sip of my tea. It’s already cooler than I like it. Damn it, Ariadne. As if hearing my frustrated internal cry, my cell phone buzzes upon the table. I watch it skitter to and fro and contemplate leaving it. I take another sip of my tea and sigh. It’s still ringing. Shit. I grab the phone and press the ‘call’ button. “You’ve reached the Eames hotline, if you’re looking for money, bugger off, if you’re looking for sex, call back in an hour.”

“Eames, where are you?” I sigh when I hear Ariadne’s voice.

“At my apartment, scrambling around trying to find my missing sugar, thanks for that by the way.”

I very distinctly hear a giggle on the other end. Bitch. “How’s the cold tea?”

Although she can’t see it, my eyebrow lifts sardonically. “Could be better. What do you need, dearie? I’m assuming that you didn’t call just to remark upon the state of my beverage.”

I can almost hear her smile. “If you must know, I am at the university marking some papers.”

“Riveting as ever, Ariadne,” I remark blandly.

“Oh shut it, you. I thought you were supposed to drop by for lunch?” She doesn’t sound impatient, so at least I’m not in the doghouse. But then, Ariadne is almost impossible to rile up. With as many issues as she has in her life I can’t imagine that there’s much room for tetchiness.

“I am perfectly well aware that my lovely presence is desired. But it’s not lunch time yet.”

“It’s three in the afternoon!” she laughs. “Get your clothes on and get your fine British arse over here.”

I could refuse her. I could say ‘screw it’; however, I would much rather go spatter my Christmas misgivings at her office than stay at home listening to the blasted buggers standing outside singing Christmas tunes. November, people! It is still _November_. “Alright,” I finally reply, “I’ll be there in twenty.”

~

“Took you long enough! Maybe next time you should add a couple extra minutes to your time.” I step into her office and plop down on the chair in front of her desk. Oh, to be at uni again…the four least favorite years of my short life. “You’re looking very off-kilter today. Do you wanna talk about it?”

I glance up and give her my best smile. “I had bloody Christmas carolers outside my apartment building this morning. Christmas is a terrible time of year when guilty parents who haven’t spent enough time with their children try to buy their favor back.” Scowling, I look out the window behind her desk. I see a damp sheen frosting the window. I can only hope that it’s from rain. If it’s snowing already I might have to hurt someone.

“Eames, you really need to get over your dour Christmas spirit. Saying ‘bah humbug’ isn’t going to make the holiday disappear. You need to either confront your feelings about it or just get over yourself.” She doesn’t look up from her papers as she makes another mark; which frankly, is lucky for her. If I’d had the ability, my glare would have burnt a hole through her thick skull.

With a sniff, I say, “Stuff it, Ariadne. So are we going to lunch or aren’t we? That is why I got dressed and all, you know. After all, this is my only day off this week.”

The smile she gives me is simply infectious. I can’t help but give her a little grin back. That is one of the things that I truly love about her. No matter what mood I’m in she’s always ready to deal with me. She is always happy and supportive, even when I don’t deserve it. “Okay, just let me finish checking this page and we can head out. There’s a new bistro down the road that I want to try out.”

We head out ten minutes later, the chill air seeping through my thin jacket and dancing along my skin. Curses. This is my favorite fall jacket and now I’ll have to put it away until next year when things warm up again. Muttering, I cross my arms and rub at my biceps. “This café of yours better have the damned heat on.”

Ariadne’s laugh is muffled by her scarf. I can barely make out her words through the thick layers of fabric. “We live in Pennsylvania, not California. Are you expecting it to be warm and sunny all year long? Dream on.”

I grumble to myself the rest of the way to the bistro. Why had I decided to move to this wretched country again? Someone please remind me because I can’t seem to recall what I ever found appealing about leaving England behind. We step inside and warmth rushes through me. _Oh_. I suppose there is one good thing going for the States: in the summer there is constant air conditioning and in the fall and winter there is constant heat. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Ariadne and I sit down in a quaint booth and order our drinks. I glance down at the menu and chuckle. Of course she would like this place. “Trying to recapture the taste of French food? Sorry dear, but I think that you may be out of luck in that regard. No such food exists here.”

Her nose scrunches and I can swear she’s repressing the urge to stick her tongue in my direction. Go for it, Ariadne. Let it all out. “You have absolutely no flexibility, Eames.”

“Not true,” I remark calmly. “I quite enjoy American cuisine; however, I fear that French food is its own enigma, unobtainable by all except those wonky Frenchmen.” I give her a quick smile before turning back to my menu. 

I can hear her sighing. “You know, Eames, for once you’re right.”

My eyebrows climb up to my hairline. “Your confidence in my opinion is as astounding as ever,” I respond coolly. She is the only person alive who can get away with a comment like that. I allow her insults because over the past few years, she has, ironically, become the one and only person I can trust, for she knows my secrets and I know hers. She is the only person who truly knows and understands me. And isn’t that a sad thought?

“Earth to Eames!”

I glance up at her, a wry smile twisting my lips. I don’t have a response for her. Fortunately for me, the waitress has decided to show up and take our order. I select some sort of pasta dish and she a soup. The waitress leaves us again. “So how are Cobb and the kids?”

She smiles, grabbing onto one of the bread rolls the waitress has brought. She tears off a piece before responding. “Really great.” She chews a bit of the roll and then continues. “The divorce papers were finally filed this afternoon.”

“Worried?”

She waves her hand at me as if the issue is merely an incessant fly trying to bother her. “Not at all. Mal’s still taking medication and seeing a therapist. The kids are handling the whole situation very well. They like me well enough so that’s something. Dom has been more upset about the whole thing than I have. He seems to think that I’m going to crack at any moment and leave him. Idiot. I’ve stuck with him this long, why would I leave now?”

I snort. The whole bloody situation has just been one problem after another. Mal and Dom had had a turbulent relationship from day one of their marriage. Why they had ever gotten married in the first place was beyond me, since they had done nothing but fight since the day they met. And it hadn’t gotten any better after the kids were born. If anything, their problems had only gotten worse. But one couldn’t completely blame their failed marriage on their incompatibility. Dom had tried over the years to ignore Mal’s failing mental health; however, in the end, his insistence on ignoring the issue had brought them nothing but grief. How Ariadne handles having such a problematic relationship is beyond me. Then again, my never-ending trail of failed relationships isn’t exactly commendable either. 

There is only one person who I’ve ever felt that wretched emotion called _love_ for. Unfortunately, he and I aren’t speaking to one another and haven’t for nearly a year. Even now, that knowledge stings. Despite the fact that he doesn’t want me anymore, I do still love him, crave him, _yearn_ for him. Like a bloody besotted girl I had waited. For months I had sat in my apartment and waited for a call that never came. Fuck. I grab onto my tea and take a swig of it. It scalds my throat just the way I like it to. “That’s great, Ari. I’m really happy for you.”

She doesn’t say anything. The silence thickens until I look up from my tea cup to watch her. She refuses to return my gaze, instead, she watches as her fingers fiddle with her glass. Letting out a long breath, I put down my cup. Great, what’s going on _this_ time? “Alright, Ariadne. What’s going on?” She gulps. I watch those thin lips of hers curl into a frown. The action immediately puts me on edge. Her looks of displeasure never bode well. Well, at least not for me, anyways. I roll my eyes heavenward. “Really, delaying the inevitable is not going to help anyone. Did you secretly break my DVD player when you were at my place yesterday? Broke my last good lamp? Ate my last Danish that I was hiding in the pantry?”

She nearly smiles, but it doesn’t last. Biting her lip she finally says, “Dom and I were talking last night.”

“Yes? And?” Okay, this has gone on long enough. Spit it out.

“He just finished up his job in Japan. Arthur’s coming back in a couple days.”

Dark tea sprays across the table and hits her square in the face. Regrettably, I have to admit that I have inelegantly spit out my mouthful of tea. “ _What_?” I hiss.

She wipes her face, looking, not angry, but sad. The look of pity, I know, is for me. “You knew he was only going to be gone for a year. Surely you hadn’t forgotten.”

I set my teacup down and scoff. “Yeah, well, what does it matter? He and I aren’t together anymore.” Although I say the words, Ariadne knows I don’t mean them. The pain that swirls in my chest is like acid, burning a hole through me where Arthur used to sit. I hadn’t ended our relationship. He had. Two months before he was set to leave, he had come to me and told me his plans. We had spent every day after that fighting. I had wanted him to stay. I had wanted to go with him. I had wanted anything but the dissolution of our relationship. But he would have none of it. ‘Long distance relationships don’t work’ he had told me. Over and over he refused to listen, telling me it would only be a matter of time before the strain got to be too much for us. He had walked out the door two days before he was leaving and not called me again. So much for love.

I start when I feel a hand cover mine. I glower at her, but she doesn’t move. “I know you still love him,” she whispers.

Relenting, I grip her hand tightly. My jaw works to form the words. “Even if I did,” I growl, “it wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t love me.”

Her other hand comes up and covers our clasped fingers. She has no words for me. And the truth of the matter is, even if she did, it wouldn’t mean anything. I know what I know. Arthur doesn’t love me and I have to live with that, even if it hurts.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been one year. One year since Arthur walked out on me and our life together. Since his departure, I have tried valiantly to put the pieces of my life back together and move on, but to no avail. Even now I still love that bloody bastard. However, Arthur is coming home now. I only hope that I can keep myself composed long enough to tell him what a wanker he is. But then, the fates never did like me very much…

Christ does my head hurt.  I roll over and glance at the clock.  3:03 A.M.  _Fuck_.  Rolling out of bed, I head into the bathroom to find some painkillers.  It won’t get rid of the hangover, but at least it will help.  I pop the pills in my mouth and head back into the other room.  I snuggle beneath the blankets and enjoy the warmth they provide me.  Closing my eyes I attempt sleep, but it’s not coming.  Fucking son of a bitch.  I try counting sheep.  I try clearing my mind.  But nothing works.  I finally admit to myself that I’m awake and no amount of tossing and turning is going to change that.  With a groan, I force myself to get out from under the covers…again.  Thankfully, I am always prepared.  My robe is hanging on the chair nearby, waiting for me like a cotton angel.  I snuggle into it with a smile.  At least I’ll be warm while I fall asleep at the table.

Heading out into the kitchen, I make myself my usual cup of tea and scoop in my two tablespoons of sugar.  So far the sugar is the only thing that’s been moved.  Although, I didn’t cook last night so I still might be in for a few surprises later on.  I drink my tea slowly, savoring the musky taste of Earl Grey.  It had always been my favorite, even as a child.  My father hadn’t been too keen on my tea obsession, but then, he had buggered off before I had hit the fourth grade, bloody cold bastard that he was.

I sit at my small kitchen table.  I should be tired as hell, but my mind is wide-awake, running over itself in its hurry to reexamine yesterday’s events.   Groaning, I put my face in my hands and rub at my gritty eye sockets.  I had drunk myself into oblivion by the time the clock had chimed 10 p.m. last night.  Not exactly my most admirable moment, but sometimes you’ve just got to give in to the more primal urges.  My urge consisted of purging my mind of every thought of Arthur.  Drinking had done the trick.

I don’t know how I manage it with my mind running amuck, but somehow I wind up passed out on my table.  When I open my eyes, the clock on the mantle is chiming 8:00 and I am graciously drooling all over my hand.  Damn it!  I have to be at work in thirty minutes!  I rush into the shower and do the quickest run down I can.  I sprint out the door with my last prized Danish hanging out of mouth.  I had wanted to save it, but it is the only portable food I have on hand besides bread, and like hell I’m eating plain untoasted bread for breakfast.

I make it into the office with exactly one minute left to spare.  I see that the conference room is already full, and a groan escapes me.  Bloody overachievers.  Fischer’s going to blame me for being late of course, although I am most certainly _not_.  As if on cue, the moment my hand touches the knob I hear, “Mr. Eames, so nice of you to join us.”

“Piss off,” I snarl, throwing myself into my chair.  Yusuf nudges me and I scowl at him.  He can bloody well piss off as well.  I’m tired, my head still feels like a freight train ran through it, and the doughnut I just finished is curdling unpleasantly in the recesses of my alcohol soaked stomach, sloshing around like a boat at sea.  I nearly moan aloud at my own reference.  Christ I feel like shit.

Fischer doesn’t respond to my retort, instead he throws a file at me.  “We were just beginning to discuss our newest case.  It came in an hour ago from Virginia.  Three women, mid-twenties, blonde, all sexually assaulted with their genitals mutilated.  The first body was found in June, the second in October, and the third early this morning.”

“And they waited this long to call us in why?  The second body should have been a clear indication.  Two women of identical stereotype don’t wind up dead in the span of four months,” I remark.  Just how daft are these people?

“Yes, well, we can’t really do much about that now can we?” Fischer murmurs passively.

I rub my hand over my eyes again.  God I want to go back to bed.  “Alright, so what else do we know?  How were they taken?”

“Therese Carter disappeared after she went on a late night run in the park.  Margaret Jackson left work and never arrived home.  Her car was still in the parking lot come morning.  And we still don’t know about our latest victim.  As I said, her body was discovered a couple hours ago.  They haven’t been able to identify her yet.”

I smother my yawn with my hand and then stretch out.  Ugh.  This is going to be a shit-tastic day, I can already tell.  Yusuf pipes in before we can go further.  “When do we leave?”

Fischer’s look is a clear dismissal.  If the bastard wasn’t so useful, I think our team leader would have seen his ass to the door years ago.  “As soon as the briefing is over.”

Yusuf groans pitifully besides me.  The minute I look at his face I know the problem.  The man has forgotten to leave an extra travel bag here at the office.  I refrain from chuckling as I watch his face color.  This trip might not be so bad after all.

~

I hate Virginia already and we have barely left the airport.  Even the people driving the cars are bringing me to the brink of insanity.  It.  Is.  Not.  Christmas.  Blast it all!  I direct my glower to the back of ‘nameless man one’s’ head, who has determined that the Christmas station is an appropriate choice for our car ride.  Eventually, I just can’t help myself.  If I have to listen to one more version of ‘White Christmas’ I think I’ll blow my own brains out.  “Would you mind turning that bloody crap off?”

“Detective Eames.  Behave yourself for once.”  _Great_.  I had nearly forgotten that I’m in the car with the supercilious boss man.  Just what I need.

“I will behave, _sir_ , when they rediscover a proper taste in music.”

“Mr. Eames, if you don’t start treating our hosts with more respect, I will have to discipline you,” Fischer warns me.  I believe that my current warning count is 2,106 if memory serves me right.  At least one warning a day for the duration of the time I’ve worked for him, plus extra warnings on the days that I have been particularly egregious.  As one may imagine, I have had far too many of those days to count.  It has taken years, but I have perfected my subtle art of showing flagrant disregard for authority.  If _I_ wasn’t so good at my job, I’m not sure they wouldn’t keep me around either.  But I graduated from the University of Penn with a degree in psychology and anthropology, maintaining the highest grades in both departments.  I had done my senior thesis on the effects of dream function upon the human psyche.  Apparently a lot of people like my work, since I had gotten the job offer before I had even received my diploma.  “Mr. Eames, are you even listening to me?”

I turn my head towards his voice and give him a tasteless smile.  “Of course, Fischer.  Don’t I always?”

His frown could bring down the average man, but not me.  I am far too used to seeing it for it to phase me.  My teeth gleam as I give him my most dashing grin.  He replies, “One day Eames, I will see you fired.”

I can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes me.  “Your condescension is aspiring as always, but you know you wouldn’t last a week without me.”

My comment finally pulls a smile out of him.  “I suppose you’re right.”

Fischer and I finally arrive at the location where the first body was discarded.  Sighing, I stretch my legs and get out of the car.  It’s time to get to work.

~

It’s two in the morning before I crash onto my hotel bed.  The hotel is nice, posh, and completely overpriced.  But at least I’m not paying for it.  I contemplate ordering room service, but when my head hits the pillow, I couldn’t care less about food.  It’s only three and half hours later when I hear my phone ringing.  “Fuck,” I groan, rolling over and grabbing the phone off the bedside table.  “Don’t you have any idea what time it is?” I mumble.

“I am quite aware of the time, Mr. Eames.  Get out of bed and be downstairs in ten minutes.  We have a problem.”

The tone in Fischer’s voice has me immediately sitting up.  “Christ.”

“Indeed,” he says.  “Just get down here, Eames.”

“Fine, fine,” I grumble.  This trip just gets better and better.

~

I’ve read through the letter so many times that I have it memorized.  “What does it mean?”  The question comes from one of the many faceless coppers.  I roll my eyes and try to retain my composure.  Bloody idiots.

“It means,” I snarl, “that the killer was enjoying taunting you, but now that you’ve so graciously invited us in to solve this crime, he’s pissed.  It’s an affront to him that you aren’t trying to figure this out on your own.  Essentially,” I continue, their blank stares have left me no choice but to dumb it down, “that the killer is like a teacher whose student has gone home and asked their parent for the answer to a problem instead of working it out on their own.  Does that clear it up for you?”

They all shake their heads in agreement, despite their offended looks.  I couldn’t give two shits about their pride.  They can shove it for all I care.  Fischer steps in to smooth things over.  He gives me an irritated look before turning towards the officers.  “This means that we need to redouble our efforts.  It’s essential that we start trying to narrow down the pool.  We need to look over the profile and see how this letter changes things.  Keep us updated on all new developments and we will do the same.  My team will be available at all times so do not hesitate to ask for assistance if you think that you may have something worthwhile to show us.  I _cannot_ stress enough that even the smallest, most seemingly insignificant detail can help us.  Thank you.”

I follow Fischer out of the room, not waiting for the rest of the team.  We already have our assignments.  And who would have guessed it, I’m with Fischer…as usual.  “So where are we off to, Mr. Fischer?”

“You and I are going to have a look at the last crime scene.  I feel like we’re missing something here.  You are going to help me figure it out.”  He doesn’t bother looking at me when he says it.

I laugh and give him a mock salute.  “Aye, aye, mon capitaine.”

He glances over his shoulder with a quirked eyebrow and a smile.  “Now if only you said that more often!”

“You would get much too complacent if I did that,” I reply.  “You’d lose your edge.”

He scowls, but the corners of his mouth are tainted with a persistent grin.  “I suppose.”

I clap him on the shoulder as I move past him.  “Come along, we have work to do.”

~

I swear Ariadne has the most inopportune timing.  I am lying in bed, desperately hoping to catch a couple winks before I get dragged awake again.  Whenever we’re out of state, we take turns getting some shut-eye.  For the next couple hours it is my turn...I hope.  “What do you need Ariadne?  This is my precious sleeping time, so make it quick.”

“I wanted to check in with you and see how you were doing,” her voice is soft, soothing, as if she were talking to some wild animal.  I nearly growl just to bring the idea to life.

“I am doing fine.  I would be doing better if you weren’t bothering me while I’m trying to sleep.”

There’s silence on the other end.  “Arthur flies in today.”

I immediately pause.  This is the last bloody thing I want to talk about.  I haven’t been thinking about it… _much_.  As long as I’m working, I can ignore it.  As long as I have something to occupy my time throughout the day, I’m good.  Or, at least, I can pretend everything is all right.  If there is one thing I’m good at, it is playing the normalcy card.  I had developed an emotional default from a very young age.  Whenever I feel threatened, overtly emotional, or in any way out of my comfort zone, I wrap myself in my deceptive cloak and deal with it.  It’s as simple as that.  “Ariadne, I really don’t want to talk about this.  I want to go to bed.”

I hear her sigh on the other end.  “It would do you some good to talk about it, Eames.  Have you considered trying to call him and talk about things?”

My look could melt glaciers.  How dare she?  How fucking _dare_ she suggest that.  “He never gave me the number for his new phone when he left the country, Ariadne.  Don’t you remember?  He completely cut me out of his life when he left.  We are _not_ discussing this.  Bugger the fuck off.  I am going to sleep.”

I slam the ‘off’ button as if that will make things better.  It doesn’t, but I can still tell myself it does.  The phone immediately rings again, but I ignore it.  Screw you Ariadne.  I don’t want to think about the burn in my chest or the roll of my stomach.  I don’t want to think about how much Arthur’s betrayal had and still does hurt me—walking out as if our relationship had meant nothing, just absolutely _nothing_.  Those days when we lay in bed and just held onto each other, those days when I got reprimanded at work for being late, those days when Arthur almost lost a client because he had ducked out of a few phone calls so that we could make love one more time.  Had those days actually existed?  Had there honestly been a time when we were happy?

I snarl and roll onto my other side.  Even if those days had existed, they are gone now.  The only place where they linger on is in my mind, torturing me and _taunting_ me as the days pass.  No matter whom I date, no matter whom I kiss, I never bring them home, for some part of me still sees it as betrayal.  Arthur and I had shared a home, not just an apartment or a house, but a _home_.  And that for me is worse than anything else.  I rarely ever let people in, but he had dug through my defenses and wound his way around my heart despite my misgivings and my trust issues.  _Fuck._ I roll over again and close my eyes.  Enough of this.  That is enough, Eames.  Pull yourself together and be a man.  But, unfortunately for me, that is much easier said than done.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been one year. One year since Arthur walked out on me and our life together. Since his departure, I have tried valiantly to put the pieces of my life back together and move on, but to no avail. Even now I still love that bloody bastard. However, Arthur is coming home now. I only hope that I can keep myself composed long enough to tell him what a wanker he is. But then, the fates never did like me very much…

I’m leaning against the wall of the interrogation room, watching as Fischer continues to question the security guard from Margaret Jackson’s workplace.  He’d remembered something…a month later.  I can’t help but glare at him from across the room.  Maybe if you had remembered this the first time the police questioned you, we wouldn’t need to be here!  His green eyes glance up nervously.  My presence is setting him on edge.  _Good_.  “Yes, I am aware that Mr. Eames is quite eye-catching, but I need you to focus here, Mr. Jordan.  What did he look like?”

“I don’t know!” he whimpers.  Poor bastard looks like he’s about to wet himself.  Here, let me help the process along.

“Mr. Jordan,” I smile with faux charm, “you already admitted that you could tell he wasn’t an employee.  What made you think that?  What about him made you question his appearance at the office?”

“I don’t kn—”

“ _Yes_ , you do.  If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have brought it up.  Dig deeper.”  The fact that he’s even gotten this far is astounding.  He assuredly isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

I finally see it click in his eyes.  Perfect.  The right amount of prodding can straighten out even the most incompetent of men.  “He didn’t have his nametag on properly.  Everyone in that department wears their nametag clips on their left pocket.  He was wearing his on the right.”  My eyes widen slightly.  I had greatly underestimated Mr. Jordan.  He is more useful than I thought.

“What about his looks?  Did anything stand out?  Any imperfections?” I ask.  We’re getting closer, I can feel it.

“He just seemed like your average guy; average height, brown hair and brown eyes, I think.”  His eyes scrunch in concentration.  Come on, lad; work those few brain cells of yours.  “Wait.”  His eyes flick up at me.  “He had a dark smudge on his shirt.  You couldn’t see it when he was standing still, but when he moved, his jacket opened up just enough for you to see it.  Everyone at the office keeps their clothing spotless and many of them keep extra sets at the workplace, just in case.”

My grin would probably make children cry.  As it is, Mr. Jordan pulls back as if I’d pointed a gun in his face.  I feel like the Cheshire Cat leading Alice down through the miresome tunnels of Wonderland.  “Thank you Mr. Jordan.”  Stunned cannot begin to describe the look on his face.  Laughing to myself, I step out of the room and leave Fischer to complete the interview.  I need to relay the information to the rest of the team.

~

My mouth is crammed with the remains of a BLT when my mobile rings.  I look disgustedly down at my greasy hands and try to find a serviette.  It does not magically appear for me.  Shit.  I wipe my right hand on my trousers and swallow hurriedly.  “Eames here,” I choke out.  The damn tomato is sticking in my throat.  I clear my throat heartily and listen.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Ariadne,” I nearly whine.  “I’m still out on the job.  I’m going to be here for at least another day, if not more.  You know how things get when I’m out of town.  I can’t be checking in with you every second of every day.”  I groan to myself and take a sip of tea.  It tastes foul, accursed hotel drinks, but it does wash down the last bit of food stuck in my throat.  I breathe in appreciatively.  Air, blessed tomato free air.

“Yes, I am aware of your work schedule, but the least you could do is return _one_ of my phone calls,” she responds haughtily.

I repress a chuckle.  My inbox currently has five messages on it, each one a slightly more desperate plea from my friend to call her.  She’s been trying to ‘check on me’ as it were.  I can’t seem to care.  Women are far too clingy when it comes to emotional concerns.  Perhaps that is the reason why I have never been particularly fond of them outside the bedroom.  I have but two female friends in this world: one of them is on the phone with me and the other is the soon to be ex-wife of her boyfriend.  Just how convoluted is that?  “Ari, I am fine.  I don’t need you acting the mother hen for me.  I have done perfectly fine without a mother for years.  I don’t need you trying to take the job.”

The sigh alone tells me she’s unhappy.  “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Why?  Because you think I’m going have a sudden break down?”  Cold fury is starting to flood my veins like a poison.  The anger is better than the heartache.  _Anything_ is better than thinking about the pain.  Can’t she just leave me in peace?  “I am not some bloody insipid sod who’s going to crack at a moment’s notice.  Just leave it alone, alight?  Until you have something constructive to say about the matter, keep your mouth shut.  Understand?”  I hear her sniffling.  Oh, Jesus.  The anger starts to cool.  I hate it when she does this.  I hate it when she cries.  “God, Ariadne, please stop!”

“Why?” she snarls.  “Just so you can yell at me some more?  God forbid someone actually be _concerned_ about you.”

I drop my face into my hand and rub my eyes.  I’m tired, so very tired of this whole mess.  “I’m sorry.”  She knows better than to expect anything else.  I never explain myself.  It’s just not part of my making to say more than the most simple of apologies.

Her sniffling dies down.  “I’m sorry too,” she whispers.  “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

If we weren’t separated by hundreds of miles, I would hug her.  “Ariadne, I love you, I really do, but this isn’t something you can fix.  I’m a grown man.  You have to let me work this out on my own, alright?”

Her voice is rough when she replies, “Alright.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow then, yeah?”

I mutter, “Yes, I will call you tomorrow.”

“Good.”

~

Why had I gone in first, again?  I hold an icepack to my face and groan miserably.  We’d found him all right.  We’d found the psycho.  I had gone in with the team of cops and fatefully taken a crowbar to the face.  Fortunately for me, I had seen him with just enough time to take a step back.  If I had taken the full effect of his swing, my cheek would have been shattered.  But then, that’s the risk I sometimes have to take.  Whenever we do a seizure, someone from my team always has to be present; considering the fact that it’s _my_ team that conducts the interviews, and _my_ team that talks the murderers out of shooting themselves or their victims.  In short, we’re the police’s insurance policy.  If they have to explain why they killed someone, they can always default back to us and say, ‘See, even they couldn’t straighten him out’.  Bloody cowards.  Carrying your big guns around like you’re the top dogs, when in actuality, you have to call in people like me to do all your dirty work.

I’ve been here now for five days.  Christ I’m ready to go home.  I’m ready for my apartment and my bed.  I’m ready to go to sleep and not wake up for days.  I pick up my mobile with cold fingers.  I’m shaking.  Damn it!  The medic appears by my side as if hearing my silent curse.  “Mr. Eames, I believe you might be going into shock.”

“You _believe_ I _might_ be going into shock.  Oh _well done_ , would you like some applause?” I snap.  I snarl another curse at my mobile before the medic is snatching it and my icepack out of my fingers.  She takes a pair of gloves out of her pocket and shoves them on my trembling fingers.

“These are my boyfriend’s, but I’m sure he won’t mind.  I’ll just get him a new pair.”  She pulls my blanket tighter around me.  “Here we go, now let me take a look at your face.”  She gently tilts my chin up and ‘tsks’.  “He got you real good, didn’t he?”

“Thank you for that lovely insight.”  Just stop touching me.  All I want is for you to step away and leave me alone.

She gently prods my cheek.  I barely contain my howl.  I bite down on my lip to prevent the scream building in my throat.  “Well,” she says after another agonizing moment, “nothing’s broken, that’s for sure.  But you are going to have to take care of this for a few days.  For the next 48 hours, use a cold compress throughout the day, twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off.  No aspirin!  It won’t allow the blood to clot properly.  After the first two days, apply a warm, wet compress to your cheek.  It will help reduce the pain and the swelling.”  I stare at her blankly.  Um, okay, yeah sure, whatever you say, doc.  She sighs dramatically and reaches around me.  “I’m going to have to put an IV in.  The fluids should help with the shock.”

I snap to attention at that.  “No fucking way.  Fluids are not going to help this.  I want to go back to the hotel and go to sleep.  Or get on a plane and go to sleep.  I am tired, not in shock.  And even if I was, I am not allowing you to stick a needle in my skin.”

I hear Yusuf’s voice from nearby.  “You have a dozen tattoos and you’re _afraid_ of medical needles?  You can’t be serious.”

My eyes shimmer dangerously as I turn my best glare on him.  He steps back nervously, fiddling with his jacket.  “Yes, yes I can.”  I’m not going to explain it to him.  Not like he’d understand anyways.  When I was a child, I had gotten awfully sick.  Mother had taken me to hospital where they had pricked and prodded me for hours and hours.  When they had needed to take blood, they hadn’t gotten the needle in right the first time.  I had sat there for a full twenty minutes, having them stick the needle in over and over, trying to find a vein that would work for them.  By the time they’d actually found a place where they could draw the blood, I had been hysterical, my mother and several nurses having to forcible restrain me.  And as if that wasn’t enough, when they’d finally taken my blood sample, I’d puked all over their freshly mopped floor.  Ever since then, I have refused to have anything to do with doctors except for vaccinations.  Thankfully, I don’t need those anymore.

I turn back to the medic and narrow my eyes.  “If you stick that needle in me, I will punch you, girl or no.”

Heaving a sigh, she sets down the IV.  “Alright, then I need to run a quick test.  Follow my finger, Mr. Eames.”  I watch as she drags her finger across my vision.  Up.  Down.  Across.  She finally seems satisfied.  “Okay, you can go.  Don’t forget to take the ice-pack with you.”

I reach down to start at the gloves, but she stops me.  “No, it’s okay, keep them.  You need them.”  She hands me back my phone and icepack before walking away from me.  I scowl at her retreating back, but keep the warm gloves nestled around my fingers.

Yusuf chuckles at me.  “Everyone needs a nice stern talking to every once in a while.”

“Yusuf?” I say pleasantly.

“Yes, Eames?”

“Shut the fuck up.”  His mouth snaps closed and I smile in contentment.  Ah, wonderful, blessed silence.

~

When I arrive at home, I can barely move.  My face is a raging inferno of pain and I’m so tired that I have to wonder how I didn’t crash my car on my way back from the office.  Sighing, I shrug off the unpleasant idea and stumble into my dark bedroom.  I am alone.  The idea usually cheers me, but not today.  I look at my empty bed and then squeeze my eyes tight.  I know he’s here in the city.  I can nearly taste his scent.  Get out of my head!  Letting out a shout of frustration, I punch the nearest wall.  I pull back my throbbing hand and groan.  Great, just bloody fucking great.  I’ve punched a damned hole in the wall.  I repress the urge to rub my face.  Rubbing my wound would just make this whole day _all_ the better.

I stagger towards the bed and collapse on top of the semi-clean sheets.  Taking in a deep breath, I allow my body to unwind.  My muscles slowly unclench as I bury the unwounded side of my face into the pillow.  Sweet, blissful oblivion can only come too soon.

I awake suddenly.  How?  What?  I roll over and look at my alarm.  It’s 4:00 in the afternoon.  I’ve been asleep for nearly 19 hours.  Jesus.  Grabbing my mobile off the end table, I walk into the kitchen and grab the icepack waiting for me in the freezer.  I had been cognizant enough last night to at least do that.  I give myself a little mental cheer and place the cold packet on my cheek.  Urgh.  I can’t help the small hiss that escapes me; however, the cool of the icepack is much preferred to the hot, poker-like pain that I am having without it.  With a loud exhale, I press my speed-dial for Ariadne.

She picks up after only one ring.  “Hey, Eames!  How are you?  I’ve been waiting for you to call!”

A moan escapes me at her chipper tone.  My God, how can anyone be this fucking cheerful all the time?  “How would you say it, Ariadne?  I feel like ass?  Yes, that sounds about right.”

She pauses for a moment before saying, “Did something happen?”

“I took a bloody crowbar to the face.  I know you usually like to spend all Saturday with Cobb, but would you mind coming over here and cooking?  I’m too tired to do anything besides order take-away.”

“Aw, I’m sorry hun!  I’ll be over in a heartbeat.  Cobb is working today anyways.  I’m just sitting here eating ice-cream and watching bad soap operas.”  I can hear her muttering as she tries to find the remote.  The background noise immediately dies.  “There we are.  I’ll just grab my keys and be right over, yeah?”

“Thanks,” I grumble.

“You know you love me,” she beams.

“Of course, now get over here.”


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been one year. One year since Arthur walked out on me and our life together. Since his departure, I have tried valiantly to put the pieces of my life back together and move on, but to no avail. Even now I still love that bloody bastard. However, Arthur is coming home now. I only hope that I can keep myself composed long enough to tell him what a wanker he is. But then, the fates never did like me very much…

“Oh, my, GOD!”

I give Ariadne a look.  “That bad, huh?”

“What was he trying to do?  Take your head off?”  She flutters into my apartment, hands twitching.

I shut the door, rolling my eyes as I turn to follow her.  “Well, actually, yes.”  I almost laugh when I hear her gasp.  “What did you expect, Ariadne?  I entered a house with a serial killer inside.  He wasn’t waiting to offer me a pint and a slice of pizza from his fridge, now was he?”

She purses her lips, but says nothing.  I go back to the couch and pick up my ice pack from the coffee table.  Ariadne makes herself at home in my kitchen like she’s done a hundred times before.  I can hear creaking as she digs through my cabinets for something edible.  Good luck with that.  As I watch her, for an instant I wonder, why she and I have never gotten together.  It’s not like I’m not attracted to women.  A grin curls my lips as she starts humming to herself.  Frankly, it doesn’t take much thinking to figure out the answer to _that_ particular question.  It’s because she’s too young, too innocent.  As much as I love her, there is no edge to her personality.  She’s sweet and inquisitive, mature, but not passionate (not in the way that I like anyways).  She’s a brilliant friend and companion, just not a lover, at least not for me.

Her eyes meet mine, and then she smiles back at me.  She quickly casts her eyes back down and turns on the stovetop.  Within minutes, I smell the fresh scent of bacon and pancakes.  The smell alone causes me to snort.  Americans and their ‘breakfast for dinner’…it’s perfect.  She and I don’t talk while she cooks and that’s all right.  The two of us have always had this type of relationship: we don’t have to be speaking to enjoy one another’s presence.  Many people might find that peculiar and I am perfectly okay with that.  I don’t need anyone to understand our friendship.  Sometimes I barely understand it myself.

I click on the T.V. and flip through all the movie channels.  If there is one thing I can’t live without, it’s immediate access to films.  Sometimes I have to wonder if it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.  My job and the life that I live are not for everyone.  Getting inside a killer’s mind takes a toll on even the stoutest of hearts.  But I love what I do.  It’s frightfully challenging and that makes all the difference.  I click through another three pages before finally settling on ‘The Hangover’.  I could use a few laughs.

“Oh, no,” Ariadne moans from beside the couch.  “Not again.”

I give her a winning smile.  “It’s either this or something equally horrendous like ‘Anchorman’.  Your choice.”

She frowns at me, but sits down nevertheless.  “Alright, fine.  ‘The Hangover’ it is.  If you make me watch freaking ‘Anchorman’ one more time I’ll disconnect your T.V.”

I chuckle as she hands over my plate.  The two of us sit down and eat our breakfast dinner, watching the movie without a word to each other.  Despite her misgivings about my fabulous movie selection, she still ends up laughing through the whole thing, spraying pancake crumbs across my floor.  I _could_ worry more about her abysmal eating habits, but that would be horrendously hypocritical of me.  Her eating habits aren’t nearly as bad as my cleaning ones.  That makes us even in my eyes.

She stays well past 9:00 p.m., well, until her mobile rings anyways.  Cobb has finally finished up with his work and wants her to come over.  She glances at me in question and I wave her concern away.  “It’s fine,” I whisper.  She gives me one last worried look before nodding her head.  Even after my reassurances, she’s still awkwardly moving from foot to foot five minutes later.  “Ariadne, if you don’t go and get shagged right this second, I’m going to get in my car and drive you there myself.  Do you _really_ want me driving like this?”

My under-handed reverse psychology works like a charm, as it does every time I use it against her.  She gives me a quick peck on my uninjured cheek and then dashes from my apartment.  Heaving a mighty sigh, I go back into the other room to put our dishes away.  She may have cooked the meal, but she isn’t cleaning it up, that is for certain.

~

When I wake up, my face is feeling much better.  I had (for once) been a good boy and listened to the doctor’s orders.  I honestly don’t want my face to look like this for any longer than absolutely necessary.  However, I now have to go out and buy some more icepacks.  Ugh.  This will be a pleasant trip.  I can go scare little kids.  How exciting.

I take a shower and get dressed.  I eat a slice of leftover bacon (probably not the cleverest idea since it’s been sitting out all night—but then, who cares?) and head out the door.  Thankfully there’s a pharmacy right down the road from my place.  I turn towards that direction and scowl.  The carolers are back outside the apartment building.  One of them grins at me as I pass.  “Only a little over a month before Christmas is here, sir!  We’ll be singing once or twice a week until the holiday.  If you’d like to join us, just let us know.”

I growl and give him a brittle smile.  “I would rather eat my own shite thanks.”

His frown warms me.  My smile spreads and turns into something almost real and tangible.  Call me perverse for enjoying his affronted look, but enjoy I do.  I walk the rest of the way to the pharmacy, whistling to myself.  The people at the pharmacy all give me a wide berth.  Their eyes are continually drawn to my face as if they can’t help themselves.  Not that I can really blame them.  My face looks like I got on the wrong side of a fight with a hammer.  I snort at my own reference and go to the counter.

On the way home, I stop in at a small café and get myself a tea.  It keeps my ungloved hands warm the whole way back. How utterly stupid was it of me to not wear a damn pair of gloves when it’s 13 degrees outside?  I stop in my tracks when I see Cobb of all people standing outside the building.  Shaking my head, I stride forward.  “Cobb?  What the hell are you doing here?”

He turns towards my voice with a smile.  “Eames!  Just the man I wanted to see.”

I quirk my eyebrow at the comment.  The two of us are friends, sure, but it’s not like we go out together on the weekends.  Our jobs are both so demanding that we rarely see one another.  The fact that he’s spending his precious free time here instead off with Ariadne is one of only many signs that he needs me for something.  “Alright then, you can come on up.”

He follows me into the building.  “Ariadne wasn’t kidding, you got it bad,” he whistles.

“Well, you know, those jealous wankers just can’t help themselves.”

Cobb’s laugh is warm and hearty.  “Of course, everyone just wants to be as beautiful as you are, Eames.”

I let him into my apartment and throw my coat over the back of my couch.  “So,” I start, “what do you want?  This isn’t a social visit I presume?”

I watch him over the rim of my cup as he runs his hand through his hair, a habit of his that has always irked me beyond belief.  “Okay, you got me.  I’m here on a mission.”

Sighing, I toss myself haphazardly across the sofa.  “Indeed?”

“Yes, well, you know how we do a Thanksgiving dinner every year?”

“Yes,” I comment mildly, “and I can assume that you’ll have another this year as well.”

 He nods thoughtfully.  “Well, Thanksgiving is next week, but Ariadne and I are going out of state to have Thanksgiving at my parent’s house.  If you can spare the time, I want to have our get-together this weekend.”

I make a disgruntled sound low in my throat at his implication.  “Don’t plan a whole extra meal just for me, Dom.”

He gives me a little half smile.  “You know, this isn’t just about you.  I want to propose to Ariadne at our dinner.  All of our closest friends will be there.”

He has stopped talking.  Isn’t there anything else you would like to say?  Like, ‘ha ha, got you, Eames!?’  When he doesn’t say anything, I am forced to voice my question.  “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” he says.  “It would mean a lot to her for you and everyone else to be there.”

“What about Mal and the kids?”

Cobb looks away.  Oh, surely not!  Dom Cobb can’t really be _embarrassed_?  “I’ve already talked to Mal about it.  She thinks it’s a good idea.  We’re sending the kids to be with her parents this weekend.”

My eyebrows creep up into my hairline.  “Mal is going to be there?  While you propose to another woman?”

Dom scowls heartily at me.  Scowl all you want, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re being a complete ass-hat.  “You may not believe this, but Mal _does_ want me to be happy.  You were several years behind me at university so you didn’t get to see how we were.  Just because we married right out of high school doesn’t mean we were complete idiots.  We truly did love one another and we still do.  She and I want each other to be happy.  Shocking as it seems, she and I are doing better now that we’ve separated than we have in years.”

I tap my fingers on the coffee table (an annoying, nervous habit I had picked up after my mother had passed away).  “As long as you’re sure Mal’s okay with this.  If that’s the case, then I will come.  What time?”

Dom lets out a sigh of relief.  Did he really think I wouldn’t come?  Ariadne’s my best mate; I’m not going to leave her out on a limb because she’s dating someone as stupid as Dom.  Not that I’d ever tell her that of course.  It’s just one of those things that you think really strongly sometimes, but never say aloud.  Dom Cobb had been a junior when I had entered uni.  He and Mal had already been married for three years and Mal had just given birth to their first child, Phillipa.  It had seemed obvious at the time that they were destined for disaster, but my opinions on the matter had gone unheeded.  As I said—idiot.

“Saturday at 2:00.  We’ll start eating at 3:00.”

I take another sip of my still scorching tea.  Ahh, delicious.  “I’ll be there around two-ish then.”

Cobb snorts.  “Please try to get there on time, Eames.  Ariadne is going to be upset if you don’t show.”

Don’t use that card with me, Cobb.  She is far better at making me feel guilty than you ever will be.  “I give my solemn word that I will attempt to be on time.  Other than that, I promise nothing.”

He rolls his eyes at me before heading to the door.  “Make sure that you do.”

It isn’t until after he shuts the door that I set my cup down and lay on the couch.  Heh, dinner.  This Saturday at Cobb’s.  With all their closest friends.  All their closest… _friends_.  FUCK!  I shoot up and nearly twist my neck muscles in the process.  Jesus Christ!  No, no, NO!  Damn it!  I stand up and start to pace around the room.  Arthur will be there.  Arthur will be at the dinner.  I won’t be able to touch him, taste him, _hold_ him.  I let out an infuriated cry and storm into the kitchen.  I look at the bottle on top of the fridge.  I could… _no_.  Absolutely not.  I am not going to drink away my problems again.  I can handle this.  It’s been a year.  Remember Eames, default mode.  Default emotions.  You can do that.  That is your specialty after all.  Feigning emotions is one of the things that have made you so bloody good at your job.  I stomp back over to the couch and click on the tellie.  I will get over this.  This dinner is just one more test.  We can both get on with our lives.  My hand is trembling when I put the remote down.  If I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter…maybe it won’t.  It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t love me.  Our home together no longer exists.  I have no home and no future with him.  Accept it old chap.  You just have to accept it.

~

I handle my problem the only way I know how, by throwing myself into work.  By the time I arrive at work on Tuesday, I’ve gotten so little sleep that I feel like the walking dead, and everything is just one big, incessant blur.  However, the fact of the matter is, work is my freedom. Specifically, my freedom from the incessant whining of my mind that keeps on telling me, ‘ _you can’t do this, you can’t walk in there and look into Arthur’s cold, impassive eyes’_.  I sit at my desk and fiddle with my pencil, my other fingers tapping upon the wooden surface.  Curse this blasted habit of mine.  I clench my hand into a fist to quell the need, nearly drawing blood as my blunt nails rub against my skin.  I glance up as Yusuf strides over to my desk and hops up on the one clear corner of my working surface.  I scowl up at him.  “What do you need?”

He passes me a folder which I quickly flip open.  “It’s the data results of the Henderson case.  I thought you’d want to have a look at it.  I’m in-putting it into the database later.”

Nodding, I go back to ignoring him, flicking my eyes over the information.  I nearly whistle after I finish reading the first page.  “Well, Yusuf, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

“Was that an actual compliment?”  His tone is anything but thankful.  It is laced with such deep disbelief that I chuckle.

“Brilliant as always, Yusuf.”  His frown only increases.  He’s not sure whether or not _that’s_ a compliment either.  I am disinclined to supply him with an answer.

“Well, anyways,” he continues, “I was asked to give you the message that we have a briefing in an hour.  The rest of the team is reluctant to come near you.  That shiner’s still looking pretty bad.”

“And this would keep them from speaking to me _because_ …”

Yusuf squirms a little on my desk as I pin him with a stare.  I really don’t care if he feels uncomfortable.  I want to know the truth.  “Well, they don’t want to be staring at you do they?  I don’t feel ashamed because you know I’ll do it anyways.”

Honestly?  That’s why people in the office have been so aloof with me?  Oh for the love of God!  Sure, the bruise on my face looks like quite the little monster, but it’s not like it’s going to jump out and bite.  “How fucking ridiculous,” I snarl.

Yusuf holds up his hands.  “Hey, don’t kill the messenger!  You were the one who asked!”

I sigh and rub at my face.  “Yes, I am aware, Yusuf, that you like to constantly throw yourself into the line of fire.”  I let out a gust of air and look up at him.  “Is there a reason you’re still sitting on my desk?  Don’t you have work to do?”

Yusuf chuckles, “Yes, but riling you up is so much more fun.”

My lips thin at the response.  I am in no mood for banter at this time.  Please try again later.  “I would heartily suggest to you that you remove yourself from my presence in the next three seconds.”  Yusuf gives me a curious look, completely ignorant as to whether or not I’m joking.  I am serious. I am catastrophic global disaster serious, and he’s about to get the raw end of the deal.  “Three,” I begin.  Yusuf leans forward, unsure.  “Two.”  I hold up two fingers to show him my count.  He still hasn’t moved.  “One.”

As I start to move, Yusuf slips from my desk faster than fat boy eats a pie.  As he dashes away, I take a heavy pen from my pencil holder and chuck it at him with all my might.  I hear him let out a girly scream as the pen bounces off his back.  The other agents in the office turn to look at me in apprehension.  I resist the urge to scrunch my nose at them.  Instead, I gather myself together and sit down with a polite smile on my face.  Cool, calm, collected.  I will exude those qualities even if it kills me.

~

Today must be my lucky day because my coworkers have decided that it would be a great night for drinks.  I’m all for it.  Drinking sounds like a perfectly good idea at the moment.  Screw my resolution not to drink away my problems.  I am going out with ‘friends’, after all.  That’s a legitimate reason, right?  It doesn’t count as alcoholism if it’s a social occasion. We make it to the nearest bar and the whole lot of us push ourselves onto the stools.  As much as I hate to admit it, I take my seat next to Yusuf.  He may be obnoxious as hell sometimes, but he is clever, and the two of us actually get on fairly well.  We order a pitcher of beer for the two of us, whilst the rest of the group figure out what they want.  Yusuf and I are nearly done with our first glass by the time anyone else has gotten they’re drinks.  Stuck up sods.  Not a single one of them gets a beer.  Even the men here like their sissy drinks.  Yusuf and I, however, we enjoy the finer things in life—like getting pissed as quickly as possible by spending as little as possible.  We’re already into our second pitcher by the time every one has bought their second drink.

My mind is quickly starting to fuzz.  Away from my thoughts of Arthur.  Away from the thought of his lean body underneath mine, his thick dark locks threaded through my fingers.  Away from the thought of those beautiful chocolate colored orbs staring back up at me, _warmth_ filling their depths.  Growling, I chug the next pint, letting it slosh around in my belly pleasantly.  The more I drink, the less I think.  The less I think, the better I feel.  I look at Yusuf as he laughs.  “O-one more,” I burp inelegantly, “o-one more pitcher, eh?”

Yusuf nods in agreement, his face and neck a flush of pink.  We order one more pitcher and start chugging.  I glance up to find Fischer looking at us.  I nudge Yusuf and mutter, “I _think_ we have a spectator.”  The two of us burst into hysterical fits of laughter.  Jesus I am so pissed.

“I think you two have had enough, don’t you?” Fischer asks.

“Never!” Yusuf cries.  I can’t help but agree.

I am conscious enough to know that Fischer is giving us a very disapproving look.  “I need you two to be competent come morning and not completely hung over.”

I start to laugh again.  “Sir, you can kiss my bloody fucking arse.”

“Mr. Eames, Mr. Yusuf.”  Oh boy, he sounds fairly peeved.  Oh well.  “Come on, we are leaving.  I will call a taxi for the both of you and you can pay me back later.”  He must be joking.  Or, at least I think he is, until I hear a horn beep from outside.  “That will be the taxi.  Come on you two.  If you don’t leave now, I will deduct this from your next paycheck.”  I mumble vigorously as I stumble out the doors with Yusuf.  Fischer follows us out and gives directions to the taxi driver.  “Make sure they get inside.  Do _not_ drop them off anywhere else besides their homes.”

“Yes, sir!” replies the taxi man.  If I had the ability, I would hurt him.

The ride home blurs by.  We are at a stop sign.  Then we are at a green light.  I don’t know where we are or what we’re doing.  When we reach my apartment, the only thing that gets me upstairs is my body’s autopilot after having taken this path hundreds of times before.  I barely make it onto the bed before I pass out, still fully clothed.

~

I hate my life.  I should have listened to Fischer.  My head feels like it’s been beaten with a bat and my stomach is making all sorts of protest.  But the nasty roil of disgust in my stomach is not just nausea, it is also shame.  Blasted bloody shame.  I barely make it into work. The whole time feeling like someone’s stuck a stick up my arse.  Arthur’s stick as a matter of fact.  Someone must have taken it from him when he wasn’t looking and unjustly put it up me.  Fischer immediately senses that something’s off after I’ve snarled at four employees and made one girl fall into a fit of tears.  “Mr. Eames,” he begins as he slides over to my desk.  “You need to change that attitude of yours,” he says sternly.

“Piss.  _Off_ ,” I snap.

His look doesn’t change.  He is completely unaffected by my dog like grunts and howls.  “You will change your attitude or you will get out of my office.  If you can’t reign in that temper of yours than you are of absolutely no use to me, understand?”

I narrow my eyes at him.  He knows he’s hit a nerve, I can tell by the way his lips are tipped with the slightest smile.  Work is my life, body, and soul—if I am not the best at what I do, than I am useless.  Pursing my lips, I reply, “Alright, fine.  I’ll stop scaring all the little underlings.  Happy?”

Fischer smiles as he moves away.  “Yes, very.”

What the hell is the matter with me?  I am better than this.  I am better at controlling myself than this.  I haven’t even _seen_ Arthur and I’m already acting as if we’ve had another row.  My hand begins to tap upon the desk again, pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb, thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky.  Over and over my fingers tap on the wooden surface as if that will somehow take away the fury buried inside of me.  As per usual, I grind my teeth and force my lips into a smile.  If I can’t handle my emotions now, how will I be able to handle myself while at the dinner?  This celebration is the moment Ariadne has been waiting for for three years.  It would break her heart if I skivvied off just to lick my wounds.  I close my eyes.  Even now I can clearly see his face in my mind.  I can see that full smile spread on his face, the one he reserved just for me.  I take a deep, shaky breath and open my eyes.  Arthur, I love you, but sometimes I also _despise_ you.  I _hate_ you for doing this to me.  I _hate_ you for bringing me down so low.  And the truth is, you probably don’t even realize how much you’ve gotten under my skin, how much you’ve wheedled your way through every last defense I have.  Fuck.

~

I get home that evening and toss myself on the couch.  The memories are dancing behind my eyelids in a constant, beautiful, painful mantra, as they have been the entire day.  His leg hooked up on my shoulder, his head tossed back revealing that long line of sweet pale flesh, and his nails tearing down my forearms and drawing blood.  I groan.  Even just thinking about it drives me crazy.  I’m hard, but ever so reluctant to touch myself.  Sweet relief sounds heavenly, and yet, I hold off.  I know from experience that if I do this, it will just make the memories all the more real, all the more vivid.  I’m not so sure I’m prepared for that at the moment.

I click on the tellie and try to will the thoughts and the erection away.  After five minutes, my internal backlashing still hasn’t worked.  With a moan of exasperation I finally reach down and unhook my belt and my trousers.  Who fucking cares where I do it, as long as it gets done?  I push down the fabric of my pants and take myself in a firm grip.  _Jesus_.  I’m so hard that I practically burst just at the first touch.  It’s like being a randy teenager all over again.  _‘Eames.  Eames.  Harder.  Don’t stop!’_ My mind blanks in a wash of sounds.  Arthur was particularly vocal during sex, a fact that drove me to the brink nearly every time.  One of his favorite pastimes had been to pant delicious, riveting tales in my ears, seeing how long it would take me come.  _‘Later, I’m going to spread you out on the table and suck you until you’re screaming_ my _name.’_ Damn it!  I bite down on my lip as I come across my hand, my eyes rolling back and my toes curling to the point of pain.

I sit there panting for long moments, trying to gather my thoughts.  Normally I would berate myself for coming so quickly, but for once I have no issue.  My cock is not appreciating the chafing from the encounter and I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had sat here doing that longer than absolutely necessary.  Groaning, I finally push myself up and head towards the loo.  Wretched, malevolent Arthur memories.  Even as a dream you’re a sadistic bastard.

~

My mobile is ringing.  Who the hell is calling me at 9:00?  I can only hope that it isn’t work calling me away for another sleepless weekend.  Pursing my lips I pick it up and answer, “Eames.”

“It’s _shopping_ time!”

Urgh!  “Ariadne!  Absolutely not.  I am not going shopping with you!”

“ _Eames_ ,” she says cheerfully.  “The dinner is tomorrow evening and I am _not_ shopping for everything by myself.  It’s only 9:00, but if I don’t get out soon, I’ll never get through my whole list before the grocery store closes at 11:00.  I will be at your place in fifteen minutes whether you like it or not.”

“Aria—” I am met with a dial tone.  Really, Ariadne?  I can’t really say I’m all that surprised.  This isn’t the first time she’s used a tactic such as this with me.

I throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before wrapping myself in a thick jacket.  It’s gotten really bloody cold out in the past couple days.  Right on time, my little friend shows up outside.  I lock the door behind me and jog down the stairs to meet her.  I hop into her car to find her smiling at me.  “Your face is as beautiful as ever, Eames.”

My eyebrow hikes up my forehead.  “I would hope so.”

She bursts into laughter as she drives off.  It is only as we’re driving that I hear _it_.  My eyes narrow dangerously.  “Ariadne?”

“Yes Eames?” she says with a giggle.

“What is _this_?”

“A car?”

“No,” I whisper vehemently, “what is that atrocious sound coming out of your speakers?”

She gives me a sly glance.  “I thought you could use some Christmas cheer.”

I quickly reach forward and click off the radio.  “I don’t need any Christmas cheer, thank you.  What I need is for you to get into the nearest hospital so they can examine your thick skull.”

The laughter that tumbles forth is so heartwarming that I am challenged not to smile back at her.  “Consider it my idea of a friendly joke.”

I give her a solemn glare before I let the smile overtake me.  Even when I’m in a bad mood, Ariadne always manages to cheer me up.  She fills the rest of our drive with little, nonsensical stories.  Her mind may be that of an architect, but her imagination is anything but.  We get out and make our way through the damp parking lot and into the store.  I am pleased to note that the ground is merely wet and nothing more.  “Okay,” she says.  “Let’s go pick up all the dry ingredients first and then we can head back and pick up all the fresh ones.”  I grab a cart and start pushing it behind her.  The action gets me a few strange looks, but hey, when you are escorting a lady this is your responsibility.  We go through the aisles one at a time, and I start to suspect after a while that she’s picking up far more than is necessary.  Nevertheless, I bite back my remarks and follow after her dutifully.  “So I watched the kids after school the last couple days.”

Wow, making progress!  “Really?  Had some time off then?”

“Yes, well, I don’t have any classes on Thursday or Friday so I offered.”  She glances over her shoulder and my heart nearly breaks at the sight of her luminous grin.  “I had so much fun, Eames.  They don’t call me ‘Mom’ or anything, but they really genuinely like me.  We played games all evening until Dom got home.  Phillipa even helped me cook dinner.  Seriously, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen Dom so happy.  He’s finally seeing that we can be an actual family.”  I nod at her even though my chest is clawing at me.  Just how selfish am I?  I’ve spent this entire week brooding and pitying myself.  Ariadne is ridiculously happy.  Her dreams are going to come true tomorrow when Dom pops the question.  How dare I take that away from her?  I should be there to support her no matter my personal feelings.  She deserves at _least_ that much from me.  “Eames?  You okay?”

I leave the cart for a minute and go wrap her in a hug.  I can’t tell if the embrace is more for her or for me.  I’m hoping it’s the former.  “I’m just really happy for you, Ari,” I whisper into her hair.  I try to step back, but she squeezes me tightly to her.

“Thank you.”  Her voice is soft when she says, “I know this is hard on you and I know tomorrow isn’t going to be fun.  But it means a lot to me that you are going to be there.  You are a wonderful friend.”

I pat her back and kiss the top of her head.  “Listen here missy; it’s going to take a lot more than one stick-in-the-mud to keep me from you.”

She steps back and looks up into my face, smile gone and serious face in its place.  “You’re sure that you are okay with this?  I won’t make you come if you don’t want to.”

I push a stray lock of hair from her face and put it behind her ear.  She may not know what’s happening tomorrow, but I do.  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ariadne.”

Her face lights up again and the tightness in my chest eases somewhat.  I would do a lot more than go to a dinner party for that expression to stay permanently on her face.  Never will I tell her that, but then, I don’t think I have to.  She clears her throat dramatically and points to the cart.  “Come now, slave!  We still have half of my shopping list left to go!  Tally forth and tally ho!”

A chuckle escapes me.  “Where did you ever hear such absurdities?  That sounds positively bizarre.”

“Oh, just something I read last night when I was reading to Phillipa and James.  It’s an exciting tale of a swashbuckling hero named Captain Peregrin and his merry band of pirates.”  Her cheerfulness is nearly overwhelming.  I’ve never seen someone throw happiness around the way she does.

Sighing, I push the cart after her.  “Well then, lead on Captain Peregrin.”

~

Well, I’m awake.  That’s a start.  I pull myself out of bed and eat a piece of toast while I wait for the kettle to heat.  I don’t know what to feel really.  I am going to get to witness probably the happiest day of Ariadne’s life to date.  But I also have to see _him_.  I hunger to see his face, trace it with my hands, and then trace those frowning lips with my own.  However, I know I won’t be allowed such intimacies.  Will his eyes be careful and blank?  Empty?  Emotionless?  _Contemptuous_?  The idea brings anger clambering over top of the pain.  He _deserted_ me, the _bastard_.  I carefully get dressed and groom myself to perfection, making up for the fact that there are still remnants of the bruise on my cheek.  Arthur is going to see.  Arthur is going to remember what it is he’s lost.  I’ll show him.  I show him what he’s missing.  He’ll _rue_ the bloody day that he walked out on me!

I get into my car and drive over to Cobb’s two-story suburban home.  I’m actually, surprisingly, on time.  I’m almost shocked at myself.  Punctually has never been my strong suit, not when I was a teenager and definitely not now.  I thought I was okay with this whole situation, but I’m still sitting in my car ten minutes past the hour.  I breathe in deeply…in through the nose and out through the mouth.  I am steady.  I am an adult.  I _can_ do this.  No matter what I tell myself though, it still takes me a full five minutes of breathing exercises before I’m able to move my legs.  Just blank out everything, Eames.  Just remember, you’re doing this for Ariadne.  You are here for _her_.  She is your best mate and you _will_ do this.

Ringing the doorbell, I stand impatiently and wait.  I can hear Cobb’s dogs barking on the other side of the door. My, how fashionably _normal_ of him—suburban home, wife, 2.5 kids, two dogs and a picket fence.  How horrifically _dull_.  Finally, after what seems like ages, Ariadne opens the door.  Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is coming loose from its braid.  “Eames!” she practically screams.  “It’s 2:15!  You’re actually _on time_!  The world is surely coming to an end!”  She throws herself at me, leaving me only one option.  I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tightly.  By the time I let her out of our bear hug, she’s giggling.  “Come on in!  Dom has just poured some champagne.”

We enter the house and the world is suddenly alive with music.  One of the Gods is listening to my prayers apparently because it is not Christmas tunes.  Thank you, Jesus, Buddha, or whatever deity has decided to take pity on me.  We walk down the hallway and into the large room that is both a dining and living space.  I notice that the dining table is already set with dishes for seven.  As I gaze over the decorative place settings, the sound of voices drifts in from the kitchen.  I am edgy all over again.  The calm I had worked so hard on in the car deserts me.  Why is it that Arthur is the only one who has ever been able to tear off my mask like this?  No matter how hard I try, I have never been able to hide myself from him.  However, if I am to get through this evening, I _must_ learn how.  I must cope with these feelings of dread and chaos inside of me.

Ari turns those large, doe-like eyes on me when I don’t follow her towards the door.  She meets my furious stare and reaches out her hand to me.  The smile she gives me is like a slap on the face.  With her eyes alone she is challenging me.  I breath in as deep as I can and let it back out.  My face works hard to school itself into something resembling normality.  Taking a step forward, I fold her hand into the crook of my arm.  “I’m ready,” I whisper.  We enter the kitchen arm in arm.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been one year. One year since Arthur walked out on me and our life together. Since his departure, I have tried valiantly to put the pieces of my life back together and move on, but to no avail. Even now I still love that bloody bastard. However, Arthur is coming home now. I only hope that I can keep myself composed long enough to tell him what a wanker he is. But then, the fates never did like me very much…

I bite down on my need to whimper.  Instead of a pitiful girly cry, I grind my teeth and force myself to smile. Besides Ari and myself, there are three other people currently in the room.  But I only have eyes for Arthur.  He’s leaning against the counter with a stiffness that no one besides him can achieve.  That was one of Arthur’s qualities that I had always enjoyed.  He was cold on the outside, but once I had him alone, I had been allowed to unwrap that shell of his like a child opens a birthday present.  His outfit is perfectly shaped, perfectly tailored, fitting to every cut of his body.  My mouth practically waters at the sight.  Even though he’s talking with Cobb, those wide, dark eyes of his immediately seek mine.  The world seems to stop.  There is just the two of us gazing at each other as if from opposite ends of the world.  My smile freezes on my face as I look into those murky and fathomless eyes.  I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I’m not sure I want to know.  I cannot read his expression and it kills me just a little bit more.

A hand settles onto my arm.  “Eames?”  I hear the whisper as if from leagues away.  The muscles of my face work to maintain the smile as I come back to myself.  With a nearly imperceptible jerk of a nod, I drag my eyes away from Arthur to look down at Ariadne.

I struggle to gulp, but somehow I manage.  “I’m fine,” I murmur.  “I am perfectly fine.”

She doesn’t believe me, but then, she knows me better than my own mother did.  She squeezes my arm and drags me further into the room.  What the hell?!  I suddenly find Ariadne ripped from me and pushed aside as Mal descends on me.  She’s having a good day apparently.  When she jumps at me I nearly tumble to the floor.  “Easy Mal!” I laugh.

She wraps her legs around my waist and kisses my cheek.  “Eames, my dearest English love!  Where have you been?  I haven’t seen you in ages!”

I scoop my hands under her arse cheeks to keep her up and steady.  An outsider might think we are lovers, but in actuality she and I are just that peculiar.  A full-blown grin nearly breaks my cheek muscles.  Seeing her like this makes me happy to have come.  Although I will _never_ admit it, not even under torture, I keep my distance from Mal not because we don’t have the time, but because I can’t stand to see her on her bad days.  My mother passed away when I was just eighteen; however, by the time that day had come, she was so lost in her dementia that she very rarely recognized even me.   I had only seen Mal’s fits a couple of times, but those few times were more than enough.  The first time I had witnessed it, I had nearly succumbed to tears on the spot.  And that is one thing I _refuse_ to do.  “I’ve been working as you well may have guessed.”

“Yes, I can see that.  That bruise looks dreadful, hun.  Did you kill the bastard who gave it to you?”  Her eyes are deadly as they gaze back into mine.

I chuckle.  “No, I was a bit too preoccupied to worry about killing him.  Besides, you know that I’m not supposed to use my gun unless absolutely necessary.”

She pouts at me and finally releases my waist.  Her legs slide down mine, and she shoves her dress back down where it has bunched up around her thighs.  “You’re far too generous.  Next time, just let them have it.”  Mal punches her palm with vigor and gives me a serious look.

Patting her on the shoulder, I lean over to whisper to her, “Only if you help me dispose of the body.”

A giggle pops out of her throat as she swats my shoulder.  “For shame, Mr. Eames.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders encouragingly.  I’m going to enjoy myself damn it.  I’m going to think about everyone and everything here besides _him_.  “So where is this champagne, my dear?  I am positively parched.”

She lets out a gruff snort.  “You should drink less, Eames.”

“I am perfectly entitled to drink a little at such a celebration.”  She guides me to the kitchen table and passes me a wine glass.  “So tell me,” I take of sip of wine and continue, “how has everything been?”

Her long, brilliantly red nail taps the side of her glass.  A slight frown creases her brow when she responds, “I’m doing alright.  Some days are better than others of course.  I’ve been taking daily medications and seeing a therapist as Ariadne might have mentioned to you.  The worst part of the whole thing is, those days when I have my… _attacks_ I really don’t remember much of anything.  They are like giant black holes in my memories.”

Grabbing her hand, I give it a squeeze.  “It’s alright you know.  Everything is going to be fine.  You have the support of your family.”

Her eyes drift over to Ariadne at the word ‘family’.  The indecision in her gaze is clear to see.  “Did Cobb tell you?”

I don’t have to ask what she’s referring to.  “Yes.  Are you okay with it?”

Those bright eyes of hers drag back to mine, a bittersweet smile upon her lips.  “Ariadne is a beautiful woman and he loves her.  I am honored that she accepts and loves me despite the fact that I am his wife.  Well, ex-wife, anyways.  She has never once tried to force herself on the children or me.  She’s a wonderful person and I’m glad that she’s going to be a part of my family.  When my illness gets beyond reconciliation, at least I know that my children will be well loved.”  Her eyes shimmer in the light with unshed tears.  If there is one thing I admire about Mal, it is her strength.  Never has she let her personal feeling get in the way of her judgment.  On her good days, her mind is sharper than a whip and just as deadly.  Perhaps that is why I’ve always enjoyed her company so much.

“Mal,” I say, “you are truly a remarkable woman.”

Her eyes sparkle mischievously at the comment.  “Thank you, Eames.  So are you.”

“Excuse me?”

Her lips spread wide in a grin.  “I mean, just look at you!  With your _weak_ arms and your, _full_ chest.  Any man would be lucky to have you!”

My chuckle snuffs out like a fire on a windy day.  Any man would be lucky, huh?  What utter bullshit.  Clearing my throat, I go to stand.  “Come now, Mal.  Let’s go impose ourselves on the others, shall we?”

I turn, to do what, I cannot fathom.  All I know is Cobb is standing there…with Arthur.  Both of them have their eyes trained on me.  Dom is smiling, Arthur is—Arthur is— “Eames!” Cobb cries.  “You actually made it!  You surprise me!”  He pulls me into a quick hug before releasing me.  I barely feel it.  My body is so numb that there are no words to be found.  “Arthur’s just got back from our company’s business endeavor in Japan.  But then, you know all about it, I’m sure.”  I nod jerkily.  Dom Cobb is an imbecile.  Everyone knows that Arthur and I broke up before he left, but no one but Ariadne seems to realize just how awful the whole situation was and still is.  There’s this common rumor amongst our small circle of friends that the two of us are all chummy and that our break-up was completely mutual.  How far off base they are, fucking wankers. 

I chance a glance at Arthur and find his eyes boring into mine.  I can feel that gaze like a wash of heat upon my skin.  My thoughts crumble, sinking into memories so long buried.  ‘ _Okay Eames, I’ll move in with you—Eames, I love you—Eames, I have to go do this for the good of the company—Eames, I have to leave—Eames, we just wouldn’t last—Eames—Eames—_ ’  “Eames?  You alright?” Dom asks. 

I shake myself and turn back to Dom, an acrimonious grin crossing my face.  “Oh, I’m fine, Cobb.  I’m great.”

“If you’re sure.  Hey, I’ll leave you two to catch up, okay?  I have to go help Ariadne with the rest of dinner.”  Don’t you dare fucking leave Dom!  I glower at his retreating back.  Cobb—I fucking hate your stupid ugly face.

“Eames.”  It’s the first word I’ve heard that voice say in a year.  His voice is deep and soothing, just like I remember.  How is it that the tiniest of words sends a twinge through me?  Even after everything that has happened I still want him.  Lord only knows how much I do.  “How have you been?”  My eyes widen.  You’re just going to ignore everything then?  You’re just going to pretend like nothing has happened?  You bloody fucking arsehole!  “I was sorry to hear about your accident.”  My eyes snap back to his.  _What is this_?  There’s a tenderness there that I never thought I would witness again.  My breath quickens and my pulse races.  He lifts up his hand as if to touch my face, but it hangs there, motionless, until it curls into a fist.  He clears his throat.

“Okay,” I respond slowly, “I’m uh, I’m doing okay.”  His eyes don’t let go of that gentle expression.  I don’t understand.  You aren’t supposed to look at me that way.  You aren’t supposed to care!  My fighting instincts kick in and I resort back to the only thing I know how to use with him: sarcasm.  “Don’t worry about this.  I’m sure you were happy to finally have someone beat some sense into me, eh?”

The briefest of smiles flickers on his face.  I must have imagined it.  I must have.  There is no possibility that Arthur would still smile at me.  Not now, not after all this time.  “Yes, well, someone eventually had to.”

My stomach churns with disgust and desire and hurt and want.  But I force a smile nevertheless, grinning with a happiness I do not feel.  “Too bad it wasn’t you.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously at my smile.  He’s always been able to tell which of my looks are false and which are true.  Alright _fine_.  You want to see behind my mask?  You want to see what’s going on it my head?  I am ready to supply!  It’s only too easy to rid myself of my fake grin and my fake joy.  I release the thin control I have over my expression and let the rage and the pain contort my face, let it give my eyes that murderous sheen, let it twist my lips into the vehement frown I’ve been holding back since I arrived.  I watch with only the smallest bit of satisfaction as his eyes widen perceptibly.  _Yes_.  Now you see.  Now you see how I’m really feeling.  Now you see the damage you have done.  He opens his mouth, to say what, I’ll never know.  Ariadne careens into me with a bowl full of corn.  “Here Eames!” she says with as much merriment as she can muster.  “Be a doll and take this over to the table for me, will you?  I can’t even believe this.  Dom _just_ informed me that my parents are showing up.  How crazy is that?  I thought the last two table settings were for Nash or some of his other buddies, but apparently not.  He just got off the phone with them and they should be arriving any minute.”

My lips work to form words for her, but it’s tough.  “That’s uh, that’s wonderful, Ari.  I’ll take this to the table then, shall I?”

She quickly shoo’s me out the door.  For once I am pleased by her interference.  I don’t know how much more I could have taken.  Even now, I can still feel his eyes inspecting me as I walk through the door.

~

We are all sitting around the dinner table, plates full and discussion aplenty.  Dom had been thoroughly surprised when I had picked the seat furthest away from Arthur as humanly possible.  Fuck you for not realizing how awful this is for me.  Just _fuck_ , _you_.  I had taken the seat next to Mal at the end of the table and tried, quite successfully, to ignore Arthur for as much time as could be warranted.  Throwing myself into conversation with Mal worked like a charm.  I hadn’t realized just how much I missed her until now.  No matter my insecurities, I really should try to be more supportive of her.  Like Ariadne, she doesn’t deserve my cold shoulder.  Mal doesn’t deserve to be ignored because _I_ struggle with her illness.  She tilts her dark head and rests it against my shoulder with a sigh.  Setting down her fork, she smiles up at me.  “Mmm, I can’t remember the last time I was this full.  That was delicious if I do say so myself.  Ariadne!” she calls.  My friend looks up from her place down the table.  “The meal was superb.  I vote for you to cook it next year too, yeah?”

Ariadne’s face splits with a wide grin.  Thank you Mal for doing this.  Thank you for handling this with such exceptional grace and dignity.  You are truly a marvel of a woman.  “Thank you Mal!  I would be honored to cook next year.”

“Good,” Mal smiles back at her.  “Don’t we have some delicious pies waiting out there in the kitchen as well?”

“Oh!  I almost forgot!”  Ariadne stands up in a flurry of motion and heads towards the doors.  “Everyone wants a piece right?  I made Pumpkin and Apple Pie.  Anyone have a preference?”  She gets requests for three apples and three pumpkins before heading into the kitchen.

Mal’s eyes trail over my face from her position.  Interestingly enough, she seems to be waiting for conversation to resume before speaking.  “So,” she whispers after several long minutes, “why aren’t you and Arthur talking?”

My body stiffens so quickly I’m shocked that I don’t accidently throw her off.  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I say thinly.

With long, soft fingers, she rubs my bicep reassuringly.  I resist the urge to pull away from her just barely.  “Oh hun, I’m sick but I’m not retarded.  You’ve been avoiding him like the plague the whole evening.  When you guys were together you couldn’t go five minutes without poking and prodding one another.  You two were all over each other.”

“Yes,” I squeeze out.  My throat tightens to the point of pain.  “We did, when we were together.  We are no longer dating if you don’t recall.”  I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes tight.  Please don’t do this to me.  Please don’t make me relive this.

Her eyes close to mere slits.  “Of course I knew.  But you and Arthur always made it seem like you split on good terms.  Are we missing something here?”

“Pie’s here!”  Ariadne starts handing everyone their slice.  Thank you Ari!  THANK YOU.  You are an angel in disguise, you are!  She leaves in a rush and hurries back with the last few slices.  “Alrighty, let’s eat up!”

Mal still hasn’t moved from her spot.  Her eyes are fixed upon mine like a hawk.  She probably wouldn’t thank me for the reference, but she’s looking as if she’s about to swoop down on me and swallow me whole (and _not_ in a good way).  I hear the clink of a glass and I force my eyes away from my vulture of a friend.  It’s Dom.  Oh boy.  The moment is here.  “Can I have everyone’s attention?”  All conversation stops and even Mal’s eyes have turned towards him.  Good.  I find myself appreciating Cobb in this moment, which I seldom do.  Yay, for finding something _useful_ to do, Cobb!  Well done!  “Well, I had dinner this evening because I wanted to celebrate something very special.  Throughout the last few years, Ariadne has been nothing but an anchor and a support to me through thick and thin.  She is a beautiful person, inside and out, and I don’t know what I would do without her.”  Ariadne’s face flushes scarlet and my lips twitch at the sight.  She truly is lovely.  “That is why,” Dom continues.  He gets off his chair and turns to her, getting down on one knee.  Ariadne’s eyes are wide as saucers.  I’m afraid for an instant that they might just pop right out of her skull.  “Ariadne, I love you.  Will you marry me?”

Her lips flap like a fish.  My God, something has _actually_ quieted her for once!  Be still my beating heart for I must be dreaming!  Ari is _never_ speechless.  Finally, after several long seconds of silence, she throws herself at him and wraps him in a hug.  “Of course,” she whispers.  “Of course I’ll marry you.”  Everyone around the table, including me, applauds.  Ariadne pulls back, wiping several tears off her face.  She holds out a shaking hand to Dom, who takes a ring and pushes it onto her finger.  This was worth it.  Every second of this evening was worth it to see that look on her face.  Her parents stand and soon they are all shaking hands.  Glancing down, I see that Mal’s eyes are swimming.

“Are you okay, Mal?” I whisper.

“Yes,” she rasps.  “He looks so happy.  It would be selfish of me to hate either of them for that.  I love him dearly, but I want him to be happy and he can no longer have that with me.  There comes a time when you just have to let people go.”

The spit sticks in my throat like venomous tar.  Mal doesn’t seem notice. Her eyes are too consumed with Dom and Ariadne.  Why can’t I do that?  Why can’t I seem to let Arthur go?  Even his name is like a siren’s call.  Against my better judgment, I turn my eyes towards the man who has haunted me for the better part of a year.  He’s steadily looking at me, and I have to admit that I have no idea how long he’s been staring at me.  Our gazes seem to clash like a violent wave against the shore.  But then, the most unusual of things happens…he _smiles_.  Just like I remember it, all teeth, lips barely definable, eyes glittering.  My mouth goes dry, but my mind is racing.  He has absolutely no right to smile at me like that.  Just who the fucking hell does he think he is?!  That was our intimacy when we were boyfriends, lovers, confidents, not _this_ , not this shamble of a friendship that doesn’t bloody exist.  I can’t take this.  I don’t know what sort of game Arthur is playing at with all the touching gazes and broken looks, all I know is that it is pure torture.  You don’t love me anymore. So don’t you bloody dare to pretend like nothing has changed.

I slip out from under Mal’s cheek.  She stares up at me quizzically, but I don’t dignify her with a response, jerk that I am.  I stride around the table till I’m standing by Ariadne.  Hearing my approach, she turns, but her exuberant look immediately falls when she sees my face.  Damn it!  Default mode has failed me miserably.  I hate that I’m ruining such a special moment for her.  I wrap her in my arms and whisper in her ear, “Congratulations, dearie.  You’ll make an excellent wife.”

Her arms hold me close and I ignore the urge to cry.  I will _not_ cry.  I haven’t cried since the day my mother died and I’m not going to break that habit now.  “Thank you,” she murmurs.  “But what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Ari.  I have to go.  I can’t bear this.”  My hands flex unconsciously against her dress and I bury my face into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent.  It calms me, at least for the moment.

She runs her delicate hands down my back and sighs.  “It is okay, Eames.  Everything is going to be okay.  You’re going to be fine.  You’re going to be all right.  It hurts now, but it will lesson in time.  The pain will go away, I promise.”

“I’m leaving,” I growl.  I step back from her and try a smile.

Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches me turn to leave.  “Don’t forget to take your slice of pie with you!” she calls after me.  “You can just give me back the plate later.”

I wave at her and grab the plate as I head towards the door.  Cowardly as it may be, I’m running by the time the front door closes behind me.


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been one year. One year since Arthur walked out on me and our life together. Since his departure, I have tried valiantly to put the pieces of my life back together and move on, but to no avail. Even now I still love that bloody bastard. However, Arthur is coming home now. I only hope that I can keep myself composed long enough to tell him what a wanker he is. But then, the fates never did like me very much…

I slam the door to my apartment, my body a tight jitter of nerves.  Fuck!  I toss the plate of pie onto the counter as I head into the kitchen.  My hand is trembling as I click on the kettle.  I need tea, right this instant.  If I don’t have it, I will murder someone.  I will go to the nearest psyche ward and put every last suicidal maniac out of their misery.  My foot taps along with my fingers as I wait for the kettle to boil.  Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb, thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky: over and over my hands tap out the rhythm as if that will somehow bring my mind back to reality.  Said fingers are hitting the surface of the counter so hard, I wonder if it will leave bruises.  I am inclined not to give a shit.  With a snarl, I force myself away from the kettle to go grab a tea packet.  After an eternity of waiting, the water is finally boiling.  I pour it into my teacup then go to find my sugar.

The sugar bowl is sitting in its normal spot in the pantry, thank Jesus.  My still quaking hands grasp for it.  Oh, my, _God_.  I watch with unbridled horror as the dish slips through my numb fingers and crashes to the floor, breaking into a million crystalline pieces.  My sugar is on the floor.  NO!  SUGAR!  I let out a roar and then proceed to check every cupboard for the sugar that I know is not there.  I haven’t gone shopping yet this week so the sugar on the floor may very well be the last remnants of my bag.  I slam each consecutive cupboard door harder and harder until the very last one cracks and hangs by one measly hinge.  “GOD DAMN IT!”  I start kicking the lower cupboards, ignoring the pain that shoots through my leg as I continue to kick in a mindless fury.  ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’, huh?  Maybe it should read instead, ‘Hell hath no fury like a cracked man in denial.’  The cry that emits from my throat is anything but human.  Knowing my luck, I’ll get the cops called on me for it.  By the time my shaking body takes a break from its demented rampage, I am panting and pain is throbbing in my foot like a monstrous disease.

The issue now, of course, is that even though I am done raging, I’m still just standing here.  I honestly don’t know what to do with myself.  The fury is coiled within me like an asinine fire, ready to consume me at a moment’s notice.  “ _Arthur_ ,” I snarl.  “ _You_ did this.  This is entirely _your_ fault!  Shit!  Fuck!  Damn it!”

I hear a noise, an incessant little noise that makes me want to hiss.  I turn an enraged look at the door.  There it is again.  Someone is trying to be buzzed up.  Curse you, Ariadne!  Can’t you just leave me well enough alone?!  Let me lick my wounds in peace!  I stomp over to the telecom like the spoiled brat I am and hit the switch to buzz her in.  Even as a wretched, miserable sod, I can’t keep her out.  Walking back into the kitchen, I give my tea mug the most offensive look imaginable.  “This is your fault.  You and your bloody fucking sugar.”  I take the mug over to the sink and watch morosely as the tea spills down the drain.  Ugh.  I want some bloody tea!

There’s a knock on the door.  “The door’s unlocked!” I bark.  Ariadne and her blasted concern.  She needs to—I’m hallucinating.  I am for sure hallucinating.  Somebody call me a doctor!

“Hey Eames,” he says quietly as he shuts the door behind him.

The sound of his voice brings me crashing back to the veracity of the world.  “ _You_ ,” I hiss, “bloody BASTARD!”  I grab my tea mug and chuck it at him as hard as I can.

A thrill goes through me as I watch him duck aside easily.  “What the hell, Eames?”

“How _dare_ you come here?!” I continue on.  “You just traipse in here as if you are actually _allowed_?  Get the hell out of my apartment!  How did you even find my apartment in the first place?!”

He scuffs his foot against the ground with a scowl.  “I asked Ariadne.  Listen, Eames.  I really would like to talk.”

“Too late.  Get _out_.”

His eyes shine at the challenge and my body tingles at his expression.  “No.  I am not going to leave.  Not until we talk through this.”

“ _Now_ you want to talk?  You’re gone for a whole fucking year and _now_ you want to talk?”  His lips thin and I chuckle bitterly.  “Just get out, Arthur.  Just go.”

“No,” he growls.  “I’m not going to go.  As I said, not until you listen to what I have to say.”  He is firm with his demand, as he always is.  Stubborn, ferocious, and _striking_.

I take a shaky breath and reply, “Why should I, Arthur?  Why the bloody fucking hell should I listen to anything you have to say?  You can’t rewrite the past year.  You can’t fix our,” I let out a harsh bark of a laugh before finishing, “ _friendship_.”

Arthur’s eyes pierce me from across the room.  “ _Please_ ,” he murmurs softly.

My heart twists at the word.  Arthur so rarely asks for permission.  For him to be doing so tears at me and makes me want to give him anything he desires.  _Anything_.  “Alright, fine.  Tell me what you want to say then leave.”

“I made a mistake.”

 _WHAT_?!  “What do you mean?” I spit at him.

I watch as he slowly walks into the kitchen area and towards me.  “I thought that if I let you go, that I could prevent myself from getting hurt.”  His dark gaze bears down upon me.  I cannot move.  “I thought that it would only be a matter of time before you would let go of me, before you would want someone else, before you would tire of me and find someone else to entertain yourself with.”

I see red.  I punch that lovely face of his and fall upon him like a mad man.  Perhaps I am one already and just haven’t realized it.  The two of us are rolling around on the floor together, punching, kicking, clawing, anything we can get our hands on.  Despite being the smaller man though, he eventually is able to roll out from my grasp and stand back up.  I wipe blood off my chin and glare up at him.  “You thought to presume how _I_ felt.  You thought I was just _entertaining_ myself with you?” I bluster.  “I _loved_ you.  I asked you to move in with me for Christ’s sake!  Just how much clearer could I have been with my intentions?!  Jesus, Arthur! ”

For the first time this evening, his face literally crumbles.  His eyes widen and his breath quickens as if he were fighting every instinct not to just collapse upon the ground.  So much _pain_ , so much _fear_ , so much _longing_ shines in that one single look.  My heart quivers to see it.  “I know,” he whispers.  “I thought that if I kept my distance from you that my feelings would go away, that I would forget you.  But I can’t.  And I haven’t been able to for the past year.  I want you to give us another chance.”

I quickly stand back up.  Growling low in my throat, I reply, “Absolutely not.  You’ll just run away again like last time.”

He shakes his head vehemently.  “No, not this time.  I will do whatever it takes to make you see that I am serious.  I will make this right even if it kills me.”

I lunge forward and grab onto the labels of his jacket.  I slam his lean body back against the counter and snarl into his face, “You can’t make this right.  All the pretty words in the world aren’t going to make this right.”

He pushes against my chest.  I slam him back harder.  He comes back at me, using all the strength he has to shove me away.  I stumble back and watch him straighten his jacket, one of his many OCD habits.  Oh no you don’t you wretch!  I leap at him and we’re fighting all over again.  Shoving, punching, pushing, and hitting the counters, the cupboards, and eventually the fridge.  Sometime during all this, Arthur has somehow gained the upper hand.  My Lord, I really need to work on my fighting skills.  He has me shoved up against the fridge his brown eyes alight with fire.  We stand there for long moments staring at each other and panting heavily with emotional fervor.  His gaze continues to hold mine steady as he leans in.  I freeze. 

“Eames, I love you,” he whispers softly.  “Please please _please_ take me back.”  He does not give me the time to think up a response.  With a quick jerk, Arthur pulls us together and slams his lips against mine, the taste of our blood mixing in our joined mouths.  Oh _Christ_.  I moan, opening my mouth to let him in.  It doesn’t matter how many times my brain tries to tell me this is a bad idea; I still twist my hands into his jacket and crush him to me.  My body screams out with want.  His tongue plunges into my mouth and I let him explore every corner and every crevice.  God, I’ve missed this.

But after several long minutes of fighting, _dueling_ with our tongues, I grow impatient.  This is _not_ enough.  It’s been too long since I’ve been able to touch him, too long since I’ve been able to _feel_ him.  I want his skin against mine.  I want him _naked_.  With that destination in mind, I start pushing at his jacket.  He lets go long enough to let me push it down to his forearms, where he then flings it off into the unholy mess that has become my kitchen.  But as our hands scramble over each other I find that these other layers are a massive annoying hindrance.  Arthur seems to agree with my sentiments, seeing as he is whimpering with aggravation.  His hands fisting into the front of my shirt, Arthur rips the fabric open, smiling against my lips as the buttons ping against the wall. Long fingers caress my bare skin causing a shudder to run through me.  I exhale shakily, knowing that I fully intend to give him the same treatment.

I go for his shirt, unbuttoning it so swiftly that I surprise myself.  I didn’t even know that it was possible to unhook a shirt in that short of a time.  I am brilliant is what I am!  Eames: 1.  Shirt: 0.  I feel his soft, hard skin under my fingertips and the heat pools in my groin. His breath hitches against my mouth as I run my hands up his chest and across his nipples.  Mmm. God but Arthur is a filthy, torturous bastard. He nips down on my bottom lip, and sucks it roughly into his mouth. Behind me, his nails are scraping gently up and down my spine, forcing a moan as gooseflesh breaks out along my arms. I can feel him shaking against me, as he pants hotly in my ear.  “I need you inside me right.  Fucking.  Now,” he breathes.  Jesus.  Fucking.  Christ. This is officially the hottest sex of my life, and I’m not even balls deep in that sweet, hot… My trousers need to be off. My trousers need to be off now. As if reading my mind, Arthur slides his hands down my back until the tips of his fingers are resting beneath my waistband. He slides them around until he reaches the button, and deftly flicks it open with an expert finger. My trousers fall open, leaving his palm to catch on the outside of my pants.  Placing my hand over his, I press our joined palms against my erection.  A jolt runs down his entire frame when he feels my hardness.  Oh, darling, we have barely even _begun_.

Arthur pulls back, toes off his shoes, and drops his trousers and pants to the floor in one swift jerk.  When the hell did he accomplish getting the damn things open?  I shake my head.  Who fucking cares?  Arthur, _my Arthur_ , is standing here naked in my kitchen.  Oh sweet Jesus it must be my birthday.  I stare down at his throbbing cock and a growl rumbles through my chest.  “Get on the bloody table, Arthur.”

He immediately obeys, stepping over to the table and hopping up onto the offending surface.  There is a wide smile on his face.  “There’s lube in the right hand pocket of my coat.”

I cock an eyebrow at that.  Seriously?  I step gingerly across the kitchen tiles and kneel down to shift through his coat.  My eyes widen when I pull out the small packet.  “You brought lube to the dinner with you?” I make it a question.

The look he gives me is utterly brazen and perhaps a tad bit smug.  “One must always be prepared.”

I slowly walk over to the table and stand between his open legs.  He brought lube because he was hoping _this_ would happen.  My bits twitch with a satisfied cheer at the thought.  “Lay back,” I command him, my eyes glittering darkly.

Yet again, as always, he takes direction like a pro.  I take a good few moments to look at his mused hair, his swollen lips, and his burning eyes.  This is all mine.  It should have _always_ been mine.  He _is_ _mine_ , damn it!  I push my pants and trousers down my thighs to free my cock.  Ripping open the packet in my hand, I let the lube spill onto my fingertips.  Without any words being spoken, he lifts his legs and wraps one heel around my shoulder while planting the other foot upon the table.  _Fuck_ that’s hot.  There is no more time to wait.  I shove my first finger in and watch as his head falls back against the wood.  As I move the digit around, I am struck by something peculiar.  Huh?  “You aren’t nearly as tight as I would have expected.”  The thought brings me to a halt.  Who else has Arthur been with?  How many other men have fucked what is _mine_?

His eyes open languidly and that wonderful smile comes back onto his face.  “Well, I had to prepare myself, didn’t I?”

“ _What_?” I choke out. 

His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and a light blush races over his cheeks.  “I haven’t had sex once since I left.  Not with anyone.”

If that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life!  My cock seems to agree.  With a snarl, I shove in two fingers and listen to the gorgeous groan that leaves that devilish mouth. I want him to know.  I want him to know just what he gave up when he left me.  “I haven’t either.”  His eyes pop wide open.  I can’t help but chuckle at the stunned expression on his face.  I thrust in a third finger and he snaps his lips closed.  “Relax, darling.  Relax.”  I can almost see the conscious effort on his face as he works to release one muscle at a time.  Now if only I can find _it_.  I reach around with my fingers and curl experimentally until I hear the sound of his sucked in breath and feel his body spasm around my fingers.  Ah, there she be, sweet beautiful prostate.

I run my fingers over the spot several more times until I hear a whimper.  “ _Eames_.”  I focus on his eyes again to find them wild and dazed.  “ _Now_.  If you don’t do it now I won’t be able to bend over for you later.  I know how much you love that.”

My body trembles just at the mere thought of it.  But wait.  Oh _shit_.  “Condom,” I rasp.  “We need a condom.”

“No,” he whispers, eyes trained on me, “now.  I trust you, Eames.  No one but you.  _No one_.”

My heart stutters at the implication.  How could he have ever let me go?  How did I ever survive this past year?  With a curse, I grab the packet and squeeze the remainder out, rubbing it gently over my over-sensitized prick.  I line myself up and push his leg out wider.  “Ready?” I whisper.

“Always,” he replies.

I plunge in.  Oh, sweet Mary and Joseph!  My eyes roll back into my skull.  So _tight_.  So bloody fucking _tight_.  Peeling my eyes open I look down at my prize.  Eyes scrunched tightly closed and body tensed, Arthur is panting, moaning, squirming around my cock.  My legs begin to shake as I work not to move, not to give in.  His eyes pop back open and he glares at me.  “Move!”  I shake my head.  He needs to know exactly how it feels, exactly how hard it’s been for me living every day of this past year….without him.  I watch with grim satisfaction as his expression shifts.  I can tell that he knows precisely why I’m punishing us.  “Please,” he begs me.  “ _Please_.  I’ll do whatever it takes.  For however long it takes.”  I stare at him a moment longer, my body screaming at me, burning with its desire.  I want him so badly that I’m inches away from fucking him senseless on my kitchen table, but at the same time, I know that if he leaves me again I will literally go into my bedroom, lie down, and never get up again.

Arthur reaches up and wraps himself around me, pulling me down to him as he impales himself further on my thick shaft.  I snarl and struggle to hold onto my thoughts as he shifts around me.  I’m on the verge of giving in and pounding him through the table, when I hear it.  “Marry me,” he says.  “Marry me and be with me forever.”

Then I pull back, and plunging forward with a grunt, I begin to move.  There are no words to describe such a feeling.  There are no words to describe the joy and pleasure as you move within someone and their body responds back in kind.  I angle myself in deeper and cry out as Arthur’s body twitches around me.  “Eames,” I hear his voice as if from a distance, “ _harder_.”  When I comply, he groans with me, nails leaving deep, red furrows down my forearms.  “Oh the things I’m going to do to you later,” he mumbles.

I manage to grunt, “Tell me.”

“I-I’m, _oh_ , I’m going to ride you.”  Oh yes, I would like that.  “And suck you.”  Even better.  “And, and,” he lets out a long moan, back arching to pull me in deeper, “and let you pound me into the bed until morning.”  Shit!

The orgasm roars over me in a wave.  My world whitens and I recognize the loud shout as my own.  While I shudder, Arthur tightens around me, body arching and voice howling out my name.  “Eames!”

My world comes back to me slowly.  I’m crushing Arthur’s body to my table, which now that I think about it, I’m surprised has withstood such an ordeal.  Arthur’s legs are wrapped around me, holding me in, whilst his hands skim underneath my open shirt and over every curve of my back.  Sighing, I drop my face into the curve of his neck and bite down.  His breath hitches as I worry the skin between my teeth.  “I’m going to mark every damn inch of your body.  By the time morning comes, you won’t be able to walk to the fucking door.”

A deep chuckle rumbles out of him.  “I’d very much like to see you try.”

I growl playfully and bite down again.  Oh yes, that is going to leave one very pretty mark.  Wait.  I hear something.  Uhh—what the hell is that?  Then it hits me.  My damn phone is ringing.  Who the hell is trying to ruin my life?!  I have a perfectly debauched Arthur in my control and someone is ringing me?  With a snarl, I push myself up, nearly whimpering as my flaccid cock pops free.  Arthur’s legs fall on either side of me as I fumble to reach into the pocket of my trousers.  A-ha!  I successfully free my phone and hold it up.  I’m not sure if the powers that be are with me or not.  Arthur sits up instantaneously, a delightfully furious expression on his face.  He rips the phone from my hand and twists on the spot.  Just what the hell is he doing?  I stand there and watch him bemusedly because really, I’m not sure if I care what he’s up to.  His eyes continue to pan the kitchen area until he finds an open window.  Arthur eyes it appreciatively and then proceeds to chuck my precious mobile clear out the window.  “What the hell?!”

His turns back around and I see that his lips are set into a thin, hard line.  “There are going to be no distractions tonight.  No one is going to bother us.  I get you all to myself.  No work, no friends.  Just you and me.”

I can’t help myself.  I laugh.  “Arthur, I love you.”

His expression softens as he reaches out and pulls me against his body.  “I love you too.”  His tone lowers and I hear a sliver of hesitation enter his voice, “Does that mean ‘yes’?”

My lips widen into a satisfied grin whilst my head rests on his chest.  “Oh yes,” I say against his heart.  “Oh yes.”


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been one year. One year since Arthur walked out on me and our life together. Since his departure, I have tried valiantly to put the pieces of my life back together and move on, but to no avail. Even now I still love that bloody bastard. However, Arthur is coming home now. I only hope that I can keep myself composed long enough to tell him what a wanker he is. But then, the fates never did like me very much…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a collection of stories that I started writing as a continuation to Grumpy Pants quite a long time ago, representing each month following the end of this story. However, only a few of them are actually complete and ready to be posted. So, I may put up a few of them for your reading pleasure :)

I roll over and throw out a hand.  My palm is met with warm flesh.  There is the sound of soft breathing in the room and it isn’t me.  Peeling open my eyes, I am met with a sight that I thought I would never see again.  Arthur, _my Arthur_ , is lying there on his stomach, one hand curled under a pillow and the other resting against my side.  A small smile twists my lips.  Sleep is the only time Arthur is completely relaxed and at ease.  It is the only time that one gets to see all of his stress and worries washed away.  He is simply stunning like this.

How long will we last?  How long before he runs away from me again?  He had promised to marry me just yesterday, but that had to be a joke right?  He couldn’t possibly have been serious.  He and I both had been high on hormones and sex; we had both said things that we probably didn’t mean.  I run my palm down the smooth curve of his back.  I don’t think I could bear it if he leaves me again.  My dad ran off on me.  My mother had died and left me utterly alone.  I had had no one until he came into my life.  I don’t want him ever leaving again.  But how can I trust this?  How can I trust him?  _Fuck_.  I throw my arm around his waist and pull myself in against his side.  I let the heat of his naked body wash over me.  Do I give this a try?  Do I risk getting hurt again?  He had left me and never called.  He had thrown himself into work and tried to forget me, forget us.  But then, I cannot completely ignore the fact that he had done what the company had needed him to do.  Arthur has _always_ been that way—placing work above all other things, even me.  It almost hurts even more that he used that as his excuse, that he used his work as his shield.  However, even behind the armor of his work, he was unable to hide himself from _me_ ; he was unable to hide from his own feelings.  I had seen the pain in his eyes.  I had _felt_ it.  But Arthur, my darling, did you suffer the way I suffered?  Call me twisted, call me vengeful, call me bitter, call me cruel, but I _wish_ you have felt this as terribly as I have.  I hope that you felt this separation as horrifically as me.

My eyes flutter closed as Arthur snuggles into the curve of my arm.  He lets out a long sigh, but doesn’t wake up.  I love him and I always will.  There’s no doubt in my mind about that.  I have the opportunity here to try and make this work.  This is my one last chance to keep him in my grasp, for if we cannot work through these issues, these fears, these pains, and these failings in our relationship, then we are condemned to never be together.  That thought hits me like a ton of bricks.  Never together?  Give him up?  Let _Arthur_ go?  _No._ I absolutely _refuse_.  If I do not give Arthur and this relationship one last shot, I will regret it every day for the rest of my life.  Arthur is here in my arms and that is all that matters right now.

I open my eyes again and lean down to gently kiss the corner of his mouth.  Out of all my touches, it is this soft one that awakens him.  His chocolate colored eyes slowly open.  When he sees my face, a smile blooms on his face.  “Good morning,” he whispers.

 _God_.  I lean in and capture his lips with mine.  Within two minutes time, I have him pinned beneath me, our naked bodies rubbing pleasantly against each other.  I want this.  I can never let him go.

~

After another couple romps in the bed, we finally make our way into the kitchen.  I wear my flannel trousers and Arthur has my robe wrapped tightly about his leaner frame.  When I step around the kitchen counter I swear.  Christ, I’ve made a mess of things.  There are broken shards of glass and scattered sugar grains bloody _everywhere_.  Sighing, I gingerly step around the chaos that has become my floor and go grab my broom from the pantry.  I begin to sweep the remnants of my breakdown into a neat pile and then dump it into the garbage whilst tossing Arthur his jacket over my shoulder.  Well, now that _that’s_ done…I click on the kettle before scouring through the fridge for the eggs.  I don’t bother asking Arthur what he wants or how he wants them cooked.  I know exactly how he likes them.  I pop some bread into the toaster and then start on the main dish.  Arthur watches me the entire time as I work his gaze as intense as always.  I give him a quick quirk of a smile and continue.

I bring over two plates to the table and then bound back into the kitchen for our drinks: my tea and his juice.  This is the first time since I was ten years old that I haven’t had sugar in my tea.  But when it comes right down to it, I really don’t give a bleeding rat’s arse about it.  I’m so happy that I could fucking piss rainbows. The sorrow of reality can wait just a little while longer.  I dig into my dish.  It takes me a moment to realize that Arthur has yet to touch his food.  “What?” I question.

He gives me a closed lipped smile and then reaches out to lace his fingers with mine.  “Thank you,” he says.

“What the hell for?”  Really, I have no idea what in the bloody blazes he’s talking about.

“For this, for everything.”  He lets go of my hand and takes a bite of food before carrying on.  “I know that I made the biggest cock up of this.  But thank you for taking the risk all over again.  Eames, you are an impressive man.  You’ve dealt with this whole situation much better than I have.  I’m sorry that everything went so wrong, but thank you for giving me the chance to make it right again.”  He meets my eyes when he says it, all seriousness.

Rolling my eyes, I let out a bit of a chuckle.  “Arthur, stop with the girlish sentiments, it really doesn’t suit you.”  He snorts a laugh at that.  “As long as I know that you’ll never leave me again, I’m good.  In fact, I’m great.”

“Never,” he replies.  “Never again.  I swear it.”  My eyes bulge at the statement.  If there is one thing that Arthur never does, it is promise things.  My heart beats against my chest like a caged beast.  This is too good to be true.

“Last night, were you serious?”  I say the question as if I actually want an answer.  I’m not sure I do.

The look he gives me is unquestionably humorless.  “Absolutely,” he says.

“Fine,” I snap.  “Then let’s do it right.  Let’s buy a house together.  Fuck, let’s get a cat.  Let’s get married and adopt kids.”  I almost laugh at my own stupidity.  Really, Eames?  Honestly you think he’ll agree to any of those things?

Instead of the laugh I’m expecting, he says, “Alright.”

I choke on my tea and it nearly drips down my chin.  You have got to be fucking joking me!  “Arthur, don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Mr. Eames,” Arthur says with a twitch of an eyebrow, “when have I ever been one to make anecdotes?  I would suggest that you don’t presume to know what I’m thinking.”

“Then just what the hell are you saying?” I retort.  He can’t honestly expect me to—

“Let’s buy a house together.  Let’s get a pet.  Let’s get married and adopt children,” he says voice completely steady and sure.  “If you don’t believe me, check the pocket of my trousers.”

“What the hell are you on about?”  I don’t believe this.  Seriously Arthur, give it up!  Now you’re just pissing me the fuck off!

“ _Eames_.”  He gives me a hard stare.  “Go into the bedroom where we took our clothes and find my trousers.”

“Fuc—”

“ _EAMES,_ ” he snaps.

I let out a great heave of a sigh and head to the bedroom.  Fucking Arthur and his fucking bossy pants.  He’s worse than a nagging wife.  I grab onto his trousers and drag them behind me as I head back out.  I wave them in the air at him.  He cocks his eyebrow at me.  “Well?” I say.

“Look inside the front pocket, Eames,” he murmurs.

I dig my hand in.  What is _this_?  I pull it out.  It’s a box—a little blue velvet box.  _What_?  My hands are trembling as I snap it open.  Inside, there’s a thick platinum band.  The trousers slip through my numb fingers as I wrap both hands around it.  He’s serious.  He’s actually serious about marrying me.  I gulp thickly then look up at him, the thoughts from this morning slithering through my brain like poison.  “You realize this doesn’t fix everything, right?  I want this,” I hold up the ring box towards him, “I want this more than anything on this bloody fucking planet.  But it doesn’t erase what you’ve done.  You know that right?”

His lips thin and his hands clench on the tabletop in the way I know means he’s nervous.  Well, you very well should be, bastard.  For the fourth time in the many years that I’ve known him, Arthur averts his eyes and refuses to meet my gaze.  _My God._ I have never seen him look so _ashamed._ “I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “I’m so sorry.”  His hands tighten to the point that I swear he will draw blood. 

“ _Arthur_ ,” I murmur painfully.  “ _Please don’t_.  You know I love you and you know I want to be with you.  All of those things I mentioned?  I want them with you, not with anyone else.  But,” the words stick to my throat and wheeze out agonizingly, “getting married will not take away the problems that led us here.  It won’t fix what has happened.”  I take in a rattling breath and close my eyes.  Fuck, why does this have to be so _hard_?  Why can’t we just go back?  “If we want to try this again, it’s going to be hard; it’s going to be _work_.”

I step over to him and kneel down, setting the little box on the tabletop.  I stare at that box, that box that holds my future, that little box that holds _everything_.  My throat claws to just say ‘yes’, to just put that damn ring on my finger.  _Christ_.  I glance at Arthur’s clenched hands and reach out to grasp them.  I uncurl his fingers one by one to find that his nails have already begun to cut his palms. 

“ _Arthur—_ ” I admonish him softly.

“I know it doesn’t change what I did.”  Those beautiful lean fingers of his curl around my hand as he continues, “But I do want this.  I do want _you_.  _Please_ , let me prove that to you.  You deserve better, I know that.  But I want you to be mine.  I want you to be with _me_.  I don’t want to live another day without you.  _Please,_ Eames.  Let me show you.  Give us a chance, give me a chance.  It’ll be hard work, I know that.  We will have to rebuild our relationship and our trust from the ground up.  But you are worth it, Eames.  _We_ are worth it.”  His solemn eyes finally drag back to mine and suddenly the world seems to come to rights.

Do I take this ring?  What if it doesn’t work?  What if we fail again?  Oh, for Christ’s sake!  Grow a pair will you?  Grab yourself by the bollocks and throw yourself into the heart of things like you always do!  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I meet his firm look.  If I don’t try this, I will never forgive myself.  I will always regret not attempting this one last time.  “Okay, let’s do it, then.  We’ll take it one day at a time, darling, alright?”

I let go of his hands and reach out to grab the box.  I pull out the platinum band and slip it onto my finger with ease.  Trust Arthur to somehow know my ring size of all things.  The weight of the ring feels heavy around my finger, but for some bizarre reason that I cannot explain, its weight feels _right._ Upon seeing the ring on my finger, a tiny smile tilts Arthur’s lips and softens the frown lines around his eyes.  He really needs to smile more often or he’s going to be a wrinkled old man by the time he’s fifty.  I hold out my hand and gaze at the band.  My God, this is really happening, right?  I grab my skin and give it a firm pinch.  Ow!  Yup, not dreaming.  Arthur smirks and then leans down to place the most delicate of kisses on my mouth.  Our lips catch against each other’s so softly that it’s almost as if it never happened at all.  Christ if it isn’t the best bloody kiss of my life.  When Arthur pulls back, I cannot help but smile at him.  No matter what has happened and no matter what will happen, I love you, truly I do.

Arthur turns towards his breakfast and takes a large bite.  I stand and head over to my seat to begin eating once more.  Breakfast has grown a bit cold now, but I can’t be bothered all that much by it.  There really isn’t anything that could bring me down right now…well, expect for _that_.  The doorbell is buzzing.  Fucking wankers!  Doesn’t anyone know when to _stay away_?  I go over to the pad and buzz whoever it is in.  I would rather get rid of them now than have the person ring the buzzer incessantly until I cave.  I stand in front of the door and tap my foot until I hear their knock.  I open it with a snarl, “What the _fuck_ —”

I choke on my words.  Ariadne’s look can only be described as amused.  “Can I come in?”

“I suppose,” I mumble, moving aside to let her in.

“I see that you have a new bruise on, well, everywhere.  Either you and Arthur fought or you two went at it like a couple of randy teens.”  She smiles at me before stepping further into the apartment.

I clear my throat and mutter, “Well, both, as a matter of fact.”

She giggles.  “Ah, I see Arthur stayed for the evening.  How lovely.”  She sits down in my vacated chair and nibbles at my toast, earning her a very irate stare.  “Arthur, how in hell are you going to hide _those_?” she smiles at him.

A confused frown puckers his brow.  I bite my lip to contain the laugh wanting to burst forth.  “What do you mean?”

Ariadne erupts into another fit of giggles.  “You haven’t looked in a mirror, have you?”

Arthur stands shot up, rod firmly stuck through that rigid back of his.  He swiftly walks to the bathroom.  Even from the kitchen I can hear his strangled cry.  Yup, good luck covering up those pretty little marks.  He walks jerkily back out into the dining area and sits with a heavy ‘thunk’ upon the chair.  The muscles in his jaw are working furiously.  He cocks his head to the side to slip me a violent look.  “You had to mark the neck, didn’t you?  How the hell am I supposed to explain these?”

“How about wearing a scarf?” Ariadne offers.  “It’s really the only way you’ll be able to hide them.  At least it’s cold out so you’ll have an excuse.”

Arthur scowls and stabs at a piece of his egg.  He chews it thoughtfully before replying, “I suppose so.”

I walk up behind my lover and ruffle his already mused hair.  He lets out a huff at me, but otherwise remains silent.  If Ariadne wasn’t here…oh the things I would do to him.  Now that I have him back, I just want to continue to fuck him until I can no longer see straight.  What a wonderful idea.  In fact, it is fairly drool worthy.  “So,” Ari starts, “I tried calling you last night.”

“That was you?”  Whoops.  Oh well, I wasn’t the one who threw my phone out the window.

“Yes, I was trying to check in with you.  I wondered for the longest time why you didn’t answer my call or at least call me back.  But then everything came to light!  I found this on my way up here.”  Reaching into her coat pocket, she tosses the shattered remains of my phone onto the kitchen table.  “So what happened?” she asks with an amused expression.

I point a finger at Arthur and reply, “Arthur over here sent it on a journey out the window.”

Arthur snorts and eats another bite of breakfast calmly.  “You were close to throwing it yourself.  Forgive me for helping the process along.”

“Unlike you, I probably would have just turned the damn thing off, not sent it to its early demise.”  Even though I say the words, my mouth is lifted with a smile.  It’s pretty damn funny when it comes right down to it.

Arthur merely rolls his eyes at the comment.  “Details, Mr. Eames.”

It is only during this exchange that my dear friend’s eyes drop to my hand.  I can almost see her world stop on its hinges.  The gears are working in that head of hers like the cogs in a clock.  Her pretty little eyes widen, right before her face cracks into a disgusting smile so shiny and brilliant that beggars would be blinded by it.  “Well, I’m glad to see that you two are getting on so well.  I’ll come back later, yeah?” she blusters.  Standing up, she heads towards the door.  “Oh, and Eames?”

“Yes, Ari?”  My God woman what do you want?

“You might want to consider getting a replacement phone sooner rather than later.  If Fischer calls you and is unable to get through, he’s going to be pissed.”  She turns and heads out the door before I can formulate a response.

“Shit,” I hiss.  I hadn’t thought of that before.  With my job, I can be called away at any time, at any given moment.  If we have a case and my phone is broken, I’m going to get reprimanded… _again_.

I plop back onto my seat and pick at my breakfast with slightly less vigor.  Arthur, however, continues on eating.  “Don’t worry.  Situations like this happen all the time.  We’ll go to the phone store today and get you a new one.  I will buy, of course.  I was the one who broke it after all.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I murmur.  “You’re right.  I probably would have thrown it against the wall.”  Who am I to deny it? 

Arthur’s look is distinctly obstinate.  “No,” he says.  “I broke it, I’m paying for it.  I want to.”

That causes me to crack a grin.  He really is just the same as he was all those months ago.  I had always liked to spoil Arthur purely because I could.  Arthur had always spoiled me because in his own self-righteous opinion, that was a boyfriend’s responsibility.  And now…well, he’s even more than that.  My eyes crinkle at the corners as that thought permeates my senses—he’s my _fiancé._   My ridiculous overtly sentimental feelings must be showing on my face because Arthur is eyeing me speculatively.  “What?” he asks.

I smirk at him and rip off a bite of toast.  “Nothing,” I reply.  “Nothing at all.”  Everything is as it should be.


End file.
